The Substitute Slayer
by AGriffinWriter
Summary: After killing Angel in "Becoming Part 2", Buffy ran off to LA and was never heard from again; Kendra's death resulted in the calling of a new slayer: Cleveland's Lorna Branson. Giles steps in as Watcher for this new, slightly intense Slayer. Takes place in an AU Season 4 with Dawn, ignores Season 3. Spike/OC, Giles/Joyce, Willow/Oz then Willow/Tara, Xander/Anya.
1. Chapter 1: Calling

A/N: This AU toys with the space-time continuum to put it in the setting I want, so please bear with me. For this fic, Season 3 does not exist (literally, the entire year vanishes. No mayor, no Faith, but Willow, Xander, and class of 99' graduate, business as usual). Willow is about to start college at UC Sunnydale when a mysterious visitor arrives at Giles' house. Also, for convenience and amusement, I'm adjusting the setting to modern day (2013), so I can include somewhat up-to-date pop culture references, etc. Enjoy!

* * *

Prologue: Calling

It's been almost three months, and no word from Buffy. Rupert Giles sits in his living room with his fourth cup of tea of the night. The steady rain outside his house only blurs everything together, muddies the events that he knows must be recorded in the Watcher Diaries, for posterity, for the lives of all Watchers and Slayers who will succeed him.

The page before him is entirely blank, despite Giles's internal attempts to motivate himself. As one of a very limited number of Watchers whose Slayer has, instead of dying – how can he put it? Defected? Retired? Left? – he knows his contribution is important to the Watcher Diaries, but it is an awful thing to have to put on paper.

_Well you see, gentle reader, my Slayer was in love with an ensouled vampire, who then lost his soul and attempted to suck this dimension into Hell, and my Slayer killed him in order to spare this world. So obviously, she abdicated her duties out of grief, and after all, who could blame her, poor thing_?

Yes . . . yes . . . no, that sounds terrible. Heavens, he is going to be up all night.

The _ping_ of the doorbell jars Giles from his unproductive labors. He glances at his grandfather clock – 3:24am – and, suspicions aroused, takes a wooden stake from the armoire beside his desk before approaching the door. Steeling himself, Giles lifts the latch and pulls the handle to open the door.

His first subconscious instinct is to assume that the pale, lanky, raven-haired girl standing before him _must_ be a vampire, but the tiny wooden cross at her neck abolishes that speculation. Then, just as immediately, he assumes that he's fallen asleep at his desk and the girl is no more than a hallucination. He stares at the mysterious teenager, her brunette hair dripping with rainwater, her dark eyes narrowing as she watches him. The girl is sheathed in black – black canvas trench coat over a black thermal shirt, black jeans, black combat boots – the overall effect is of a ninja going to a funeral.

"Are you Rupert Giles?"

Her voice is distrusting and cautious. From her size she looks to be about eighteen or nineteen, but her tone and the intense glint in her eyes make her appear older.

"Um . . . yes, yes I am," Giles replies, pulling off his glasses to wipe off a few raindrops that have peppered the lenses.

"The Watcher?"

"Well . . ." – Honestly, whatever happened to keeping the secret identities of a well-established and long revered order? – "yes, yes I am a Watcher. Um . . . won't you come in, miss?"

Without taking her eyes off him, the girl picks up two small suitcases from beside her boots and cautiously steps over the threshold. Giles closes the door behind her, then moves to the kitchen and pulls several teaboxes out of a cabinet.

"Um . . . tea? Or coffee, I suppose?"

"No thank you."

She sets her suitcases by the doorpost – and the clinking sound they make indicates that at least some of the contents might be weapons – and, after a moment's deliberation, hangs her trench on Giles's coat rack.

"Um . . . if I may ask," Giles begins awkwardly, but the girl's cool voice cuts him off.

"They didn't tell you I was coming, did they?"

"Well, um . . . no, I'm afraid _they_, whoever they are, did not inform me that I should be inspecting anyone. Who might you be, exactly."

"Lorna Branson. The Council assigned me to you. I've just come from Cleveland."

"Cleveland?" Giles chokes on a mouthful of his room-temperature tea.

"Ohio. Second largest Hellmouth in North America. Or it was."

Utterly flabbergasted, Giles tries to remove his glasses, only to realize he already has them in his hands.

"Er . . . I'm sorry, um . . . Lorna. Did you say there _was_ a Hellmouth in Cleveland? What has happened to it?"

The girl's eyes drop to the ground. "Closed it."

"H-how?" Giles stutters.

"Felt the power, the Slayer legacy. Started three months ago. Dad told me Kendra must be dead."

"Yes, she was slain by the vampire, Drusilla, who we believe has now fled to South America with her paramour, William the Bloody."

Giles gets the impression that his recounting of the recent weeks' events in Sunnydale is meaningless old news to his mysterious visitor.

"One moment, did you say . . . your father. . . are you possibly . . .?"

"Watcher Neil Branson's daughter, yeah." The girl's cold, steady voice falters for the first time. "If you didn't know to expect me, you probably haven't heard."

"Um . . . heard what?"

"He's dead."

Knees weakening, Giles finds himself collapsing into a living room armchair, half his remaining tea spilling over his trousers kneecap.

"Good heavens. And the Cleveland Hellmouth . . ."

"He and mom tried to help me . . . close it. There was an avalanche. A city block caved in on it. They couldn't get away in time."

"Neil _and_ Miranda? Oh, good lord . . . my . . . my very deepest condolences, Lorna. Your father was a great man and a good friend."

"That was almost a month ago. The Council should have told you." Her voice is back to brusque and business-like, but the dark eyes that flicker between Giles's seem to bear a deep, inexpressible burden, buried just beneath the surface. "They knew I was coming to see you. Are you sure you didn't get a phone call or anything?"

"I'm afraid I was under the impression that I am not in particular favor with the Council these days," Giles admits, rubbing the spilled tea out of his pants with a dishrag.

"Because of Buffy."

Giles sighs and nods. What is the point in admitting the obvious, that Buffy's rash departure reflects badly on his influence as her Watcher?

Lorna sits down on Giles's couch, leans forward, and squares her shoulders. It's the most normal, human movement he has yet seen from her.

"I know this might be a sensitive subject, Mr. Giles, but do you know if she's coming back? Are you still her Watcher?"

"I appear to be no one's Watcher at the moment," he mutters, mainly to himself.

"Mr. Giles, I know this is short notice, and I understand if you have prior commitments, but I've spent the last week on eight different buses to get here. Since my parents . . . my Watchers . . . can't guide me anymore, and I know there's still so much I have to learn about this calling, could I . . . stay here in Sunnydale? Even if it's just until the Council decides if they have any other plans for me? Would you be willing to be my Watcher?"

Momentarily taken aback, Giles stares into the dark-haired girl's face, scrutinizing her. If not for her intense – he would even go so far as to say _battle-worn_ – expression, he would have sincerely wondered if this was some kind of prank, or a test from the Council.

"Well, Lorna, I . . . I don't exactly know what to say, other than you're most welcome to stay here. As to being your Watcher . . . if the Council deems me fit for the task, I will undertake it as best I can."

The irony is not lost on Giles: to exchange a Slayer who has rejected her duty after paying the ultimate price and sacrificing her love . . . for a Slayer who has also lost everything dear to her – parents, Watcher, and home in one fell swoop – but was still fighting on behalf of her newfound calling. Of course he is willing to continue his own family's legacy and become Lorna's Watcher.

Even if this particular new Slayer happens to give him the heebie-jeebies.

* * *

A/N: Comments? Critique? Confused? I know it's a little rough, but I was so close to finishing it that I wanted to go ahead and throw it at you! =)


	2. Chapter 2: Adjusting

A/N: Fun fact: Lorna's character is inspired by Raven from _Teen Titans_, River from _Firefly_, and Cameron from _Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles_! The name Lorna is from _Lorna Doone_, which is a book I really enjoyed as a child, and Branson is the last name of a character from _Downton Abbey_. Yes, I worked really hard to mix all those fandoms together, haha!

Also, I decided to keep Dawn (even though canon-wise she doesn't exist yet). I'm warming up to her as I re-watch season 5.

Enjoy! A big thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed!

Joss Whedon owns everything except my OC (Lorna).

* * *

**Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer**: Three months after Buffy killed Angel and fled from Sunnydale, an intense and introverted new Slayer arrives at Giles' doorstep: Lorna Branson, who closed the Cleveland Hellmouth but lost her mother and father/Watcher in the process. Fitting in with the Sunnydale Slayer Sidekick Squad will be harder than she thought . . .

Chapter 2: Adjusting

A soft, late summer breeze enters through the barely-open window of the smallest bedroom in 1630 Revello Drive. Morning sunshine drifts through the slits in the blinds, illuminating the already-awake occupant of the bed. Even after two weeks of living in the Summers' house, Lorna still can't manage to sleep all the way through the night, her slumbers constantly interrupted with disturbing memories: the roaring of the undead being released from the Cleveland Hellmouth, her mother's last screams, her father shouting for her to run even as the creatures cut him down . . .

Biting her lip, Lorna rolls over and kicks the heavy covers down to her ankles, feeling like she's disappointing her first Watcher even from beyond the grave. Her dad wouldn't want her to dwell on his death, would reprimand her for letting anything distract her from her destiny. He probably wouldn't approve of her decision to attend University of California: Sunnydale as a cover story either, but Lorna submitted to Giles' advice on that front. From her perspective, she not only fulfilling the role of Slayer in this vamp-infested little town; she's also filling Buffy's shoes in every other arena of life – daughter to both Joyce Summers and in a sense Giles, sister to thirteen-year-old Dawn, best friend for Willow . . . so many alter egos that her brain doesn't seem to have room for _herself_ anymore.

Tired of lying in bed doing nothing, Lorna sits up and runs both hands through her long, dark brown hair. She knows that Joyce and Dawn must still be asleep, so she tiptoes down the hallway to the bathroom, showers quickly, then dresses in a dark green t-shirt and jeans before slipping down to the kitchen. In less than a minute she has found a loaf of bread, pulled cinnamon and nutmeg out of the spice drawer, and cracked open two eggs onto a shallow plate. She turns a stove plate up to medium heat, dips the bread slices into the spice-egg mixture, and lays them on a griddle four at a time.

"Lorna?"

Joyce Summers, still in her dressing gown, enters the kitchen and eyes the half-prepared breakfast with a curious tilt of her head.

"Yes, Mrs. Summers?" asks the brunette, pulling milk and orange juice out of the fridge.

"Lorna, dear, you don't have to keep doing this. You're our guest, not Cinderella."

Lorna flips over the first set of French toast slices and then awkwardly spins the spatula around in her hand, eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Summers. I didn't know it bothered you so much. I like cooking, and I wanted to show my gratitude for you letting me live here."

"It's not that it bothers me, per-se," Joyce shrugs, taking three glasses down from a cupboard. "I want you to feel welcome here, but it seems like you're fighting it. You don't have to be so tough all the time, sweetie."

Lorna swallows. "I'll try, Mrs. Summers. Um . . . how many slices do you want?"

"Two, please," smiles Joyce. She pours herself some orange juice and sits at one of the island stools. "So, first day of college. I'm sure you and Willow will make a lot of new friends. What classes do you have?"

"Psychology, World History, Calculus, Fundamental Physics, and British Literature," she answers, rattling off her courses mechanically.

"Sounds like an interesting mix. What do you plan on doing with your degree?"

Lorna looks up from the second round of grilling French toast slices and stares sadly at Joyce. "Mrs. Summers . . . I'm the Slayer. That's the only profession I'll ever be able to have. This college double life, it's not going to mean anything except that if I live long enough to graduate, I might be able to get a part-time day job that pays more than minimum wage."

"Oh, honey, you're only nineteen. You're way too young to be thinking about death."

Lorna doesn't bother to correct Buffy's mother, to inform her that at age nineteen she's already in the equivalent of the Slayer Senior Citizen's Club. Her lifespan as an opponent of the forces of darkness is better measured in 'months after being called' than in years.

Just then, Dawn – still pajama-clad – scurries down the stairs, distracting Joyce from the bittersweet expression on Lorna's face.

"Morning, Mom. Hi Lorna," Dawn says with a stretch of her gangly arms, skipping around the kitchen island to give Lorna a squeezing hug around the middle. That's part of the younger Summers daughter's first-thing-in-the-morning routine. From a few of Giles' and Willow's comments, Lorna has inferred that Buffy was never very affectionate with Dawn, jealous of her Slayer-free life. An only child herself, Lorna willingly lets herself be adopted by little, lanky Dawn, but she continually wonders if these ritual hugs are intended to comfort _her_ or to balm Dawn's own heart, to fill the void her missing sister left behind.

"Good morning, Dawn. French toast?"

"You betcha!"

"Lorna, honey, did you sleep okay?" Joyce asks suddenly, the morning light in the kitchen finally bright enough for her to notice the shadowy circles underneath Lorna's dark eyes.

"It's getting better," Lorna says by way of a noncommittal reply, scooping two slices each onto plates for herself, Dawn, and Mrs. Summers.

"Fewer nightmares? That's really good, dear."

"Yeah, I haven't heard you screaming in, like, four nights," pipes up Dawn helpfully.

"Dawn!"

"It's okay, Mrs. Summers," Lorna says quickly. "I'm choosing not to let it bother me."

Joyce gives her a sympathetic, motherly look. "Nobody expects you to just get over it, Lorna. You can take all the time you need to process everything. You don't have to rush."

Lorna sighs, skimming her fork against the edge of her plate. "Unfortunately, Mrs. Summers, I _do_ need to just get over it. I can't afford to be unfocused, or else some lucky vampire might cash in on my distraction."

* * *

Several miles outside Sunnydale, a black DeSoto hides beneath a copse of trees, the only inhabitant restlessly slumbering in the back seat. His skin is unnaturally pale, his artificially blond hair slicked back from his face, several empty bottles of Tequila littering the floor of the car.

"Slayer . . ." murmurs the drunken vampire, head lolling from side to side. "Gonna . . . wring your . . . pretty little neck . . . possess . . . devour you . . . ughh . . ."

Without regaining consciousness, William the Bloody rolls off the seat and lands in a crumpled heap of leather and black denim on the floor of the car, his thoughts a jumbled tangle of bloodlust, frustration, and desire.


	3. Chapter 3: Overwhelmed

A/N: Shout out to _HikariYamino_ for reviewing both chapters so far! I hope this story continues to meet your hopes and expectations!

This chapter contains quotes/scenes from "The Freshman" and "Lovers' Walk"

* * *

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Called as the next Slayer, Lorna Branson is adapting to life in Sunnydale after her bittersweet defeat of the Cleveland Hellmouth. Fitting in with the Sunnydale Slayer Sidekick Squad will be harder than she thought. Unbeknownst to her, the Big Bad is back and seeking the blood of the Slayer . . ._

Chapter 3: Overwhelmed

"Omygosh omygosh omygosh!"

"Willow, it's going to be okay," Lorna says, a little alarmed at the way Willow is hyperventilating as the two of them walk through the hectic campus quad, orientation packets in their hands.

"I'm gonna _love_ college!" the redhead squeals, hugging her set of folders tightly to her multicolored shirt. "With the new classes, and the new books, and the learning of new things! I'm so excited I could scream!"

"Doubt anyone could hear you," Lorna comments, hiding her anxiety. Though she knows no vampires could endure this bright August morning, the massive crowd of students around them has nevertheless sparked her Slayer awareness, her muscles tensing so that each step could become a defensive stance, her eyes darting from face to face. Perhaps it's because the last time she was in the midst of such masses, they were all grotesque demons, yowling for her blood.

Lorna snaps her attention back to Willow in time to hear her say, "I just wish we could have been roommates. The girl I got stuck with seems even worse than Cordelia. I think she might be a demon."

"That's too bad, but nice to know I have somewhere to go if the Summers' decide to kick me out."

"What?" asks Willow, partially distracted by another disorganized onslaught of protesting and leaflet distributing students. "Lorna, Mrs. Summers would never kick you out! She loves having you there, and so does Dawn! I heard her telling Giles about what a help you've been and . . . Ooh!" she exclaims, reading the latest leaflet that has appeared, almost by magic, in her hands. "Jell-O shots at Alpha Delta on Thursday! I think that's the party Oz's band is playing at! We should totally go, celebrate our first week as undergraduates!"

Lorna eyes her skeptically. "Are you sure you want to go to something like that? A fraternity party with a bunch of strangers? Everyone drinking and gyrating to tasteless music and flaunting their unmentionables? And _then_ being wasted on Friday, right when teachers are starting to judge who the serious students are?"

"You sound like Giles," Willow giggles. "Only without the glasses cleaning and the 'Good Lord's."

"Guess that's a side effect of being homeschooled by my Watcher parents. The party scene just doesn't sound . . . interesting, you know?"

"But . . ." says Willow, flustered and somewhat upset at herself for leading them into mentioning Lorna's dead family. "But a party would be _fun_! We're college girls now, have to act the part! Besides, it beats the alternative."

"Studying?" asks Lorna, surprised by the seeming change in Willow's academic adoration.

"No, silly, Slayage. Staking and dusting. It's like . . . office work."

"Gosh, thanks for dissing my destiny."

"You know what I mean, Lorna. Don't you want to do something different and exciting? We haven't even been to the Bronze yet, but I want to wait until Xander gets back from his epic road trip so we can all go together. Will you please come to the party with me? What could go wrong?"

"I dunno," Lorna shrugs, pointing at the Alpha Delta flyer. "Maybe there will be vampires."

* * *

_Need another drink_ . . .

As Spike slowly regains consciousness – sprawled half-way off the DeSoto's backseat onto the floor with his hand sticking limply through the open car door – that's all he can think about: another drink, preferably hot blood, but a few shots of bourbon would do him just as well. Let him forget Dru, drown his wounded heart.

_All Slayer's fault . . . made Dru think I'd gone soft_ . . . _gonna drink the blood of the Slayer . . . drown in her . . . feel her tickling my hand . . . ow . . . Ow . . ._

"Owww!"

Spike reels upward, thrashing his hand in the air as sunlight-induced flames lick at his fingers. He looks around in panic and, seeing no alternative, uses the tailcoats of his duster to beat out the fire, then sits on his hand to ensure the blaze is fully extinguished. Shrouding his stinging hand in the leather, he yanks the car door shut again, dividing him from the vivid sunshine. Spike kicks around the whiskey bottles until he finds one that isn't depleted, pours half the remaining contents over his steaming hand, squints in pain, and then tips a mouthful into his throat.

"Bloody hell," he moans, stiffly flexing his blistered fingers. "This is just too much."

"Oh, did I leave the door open? Sorry. It was, like, really dark when I got here, and you were asleep, so I just left you there."

Spike's eyes slowly widen. In the passenger seat in front of him is a blonde vampire girl in a provocative pink halter top. Her face is so caked with makeup that it appears as though she put on a few layers in human face, then vamped out and added even more color to emphasize her cheeks and eyelids. One hand holding a nail file to the other, she smiles apologetically at Spike, who's trying to figure out if he's died and gone to Hell.

"Er . . . not to be rude, kitten, but . . . who the hell are you, and what the bleeding hell are you doing in my car?"

"Oh, I'm Harmony. I needed somewhere to hide 'cuz the sun was coming up. Who are you?"

* * *

"Lorna . . . look at it," Willow whispers. "It's all _ah_ . . . and _ooh_ . . . and _eeep_."

"It's impressive," Lorna adds in an equally quiet voice. "I think the Cleveland one was bigger, though."

"Should we tell Giles? He might want to transfer."

Lorna eyes the imposing ceiling of UC Sunnydale's main library, so massive that it makes the one at Sunnydale High look like a broom closet.

"I don't think the size matters much to him, Willow. At least this one isn't planted right over the gaping maw of the Hellmouth, like the high school one is. Besides, he's only part-time librarian now. Didn't I tell you? The Council sent a letter telling him he's been established as my permanent Watcher, so he's cutting back at Sunnydale High."

"Really? That's awes–"

A scowling librarian shushes them, and Willow blushes the color of her hair.

"Let's find our books before we get kicked out," Lorna advises. Willow nods, and they traverse the aisles in silence until they get to the much noisier bookstore, already teeming with frantic students. Once Oz joins them to help, they rustle up all their required textbooks within a few minutes, except for three copies of Professor Walsh's _Introduction to Psychology_.

"Is that it?" Willow asks, pointing several volumes on a top shelf.

"Looks like it," agrees Oz. "Well, Lorna, as our resident tall person . . ."

"Oh, the glorious burden of destiny, or the advantage of wearing combat boots," she grins wryly at the two of them, then reaches up to the shelf with ease and plucks three copies of the book off of the pile, adjusting the remaining texts so that they don't accidently topple onto a young man sitting in the aisle. He briefly looks up from his reading.

"Thanks. Guess I'm just asking for a concussion."

Lorna starts to say, "No problem," but the student takes another longer glance at her, then scrambles to his feet, his expression turning to suppressed shock.

"Hey, do you know her?" asks Oz, seeking to break up the tension. Wordlessly, the tall, broad-shouldered student backs up several more steps and then quickly vacates the premises, his book abandoned on the floor where he'd been sitting.

"What's up with _that_?" Willow gawks.

"No idea," Lorna mutters, bewildered. "Maybe he thought I was someone else."


	4. Chapter 4: Life is a Pop Quiz

A/N: This chapter contains quotes/scenes from "The Freshman", "Lovers' Walk", and "The Harsh Light of Day". Thanks _mike13z50_ and _HikariYamino_ for continuing to review and follow this story! I'm so blessed by your encouragement. =)

* * *

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Called as the next Slayer, Lorna Branson is adapting to life in Sunnydale after her bittersweet defeat of the Cleveland Hellmouth. Fitting in at college and with the Scooby Gang will be harder than she thought. Unbeknownst to her, the Big Bad is back and about to get some good news for once . . ._

Chapter 4: Life is a Pop Quiz

"This is the room for Psychology, right?" Willow asks excitedly as they enter the lecture hall.

"Sure looks like it," Lorna nods warily. Accompanied by Willow and Oz, she walks up to the fourth row and picks a seat.

"Hey, isn't that the guy we saw in the bookstore?" Oz whispers to the two girls, nodding toward the front of the class. Sure enough, the broad-shouldered, square-jawed college student who almost had the stack of textbooks fall on his head is leaning on the table at the front of the classroom, casting an authoritative glance over the entering students. When his eyes fall on Lorna, he lingers for a second as though he's sizing her up. Thankfully, Professor Maggie Walsh enters at that moment, sweeping in and causing instant silence to settle over the students. She has the air of someone who is confident in her own brilliance.

"Okay," she announces to the class. "This is Psych 105, Introduction to Psychology. I'm Professor Walsh. Those of you who fall into my good graces will come to know me as Maggie. Those of you who don't will come to know me by the nickname my T.A.'s use and think I don't know about, the Evil Bitch-Monster of Death."

Muted chuckles flit across the classroom, the students unsure whether Professor Walsh is serious or jesting. Lorna doesn't laugh, just glances the older student at the front, whom she guesses must be a teaching assistant. His hands are on his hips, feigning casualness, but his overall body language reveals how tense he is. He seems to be working hard not to look at her, and whenever he does, he immediately turns his gaze back to the instructor.

"Make no mistake," Professor Walsh continues. "I run a hard class. I assign a lot of work, I talk fast, and I expect you to keep up . . ."

* * *

"And I've always wanted to go to France. I _was_ going to go to France, but I didn't. I was dying to see the stores."

Spike swears by all that is unholy that if this infernal chatterbox doesn't shut up soon, he'll throw either himself or, better yet, _her_ out of the car and put an end to it. How the blazes had this bint survived this long since being turned? In any other time in history – the good ol' days when humans had been a bit more in touch with the supernatural realm and thus more fun to fight – she would have been dusted the second she opened her simpering mouth.

His residual hangover headache repeatedly pounds his skull with the strength of the Slayer's memorable nose-breaking punches. At least back then he didn't have to deal with the endless prattle from the tart in the front seat. Never in his long years has a single day seemed to trickle by so slowly.

"And you know, the first person I bit when I turned was Brian," Harmony continues seamlessly, her rambling truly nonstop now that she no longer needs to draw breath, "but he didn't seem to like me anymore. He didn't act very excited to be with me and, like, have all these cool vampire powers. Wasn't that mean of him?" she demands, admiring her filed fingernails.

"Love hurts, baby," Spike retorts bitterly, wishing he hadn't already plundered all the contents of his alcohol stash on the drive back to Sunnydale. Even the pain of pining for Drusilla would be a welcomed relief from the endless babbling.

"Well, I think he just didn't want to go to France with me, even though he promised it would be, like, a totally romantic after-graduation trip. And then he had the nerve to tell me that he didn't even take French . . ."

"Harmony," Spike interrupts, one hand cradling his throbbing head. "What's it take to get you to _shut the hell up_?!"

She gives a whimpering pout for a few seconds and then launches into chatter again. "Fine! Be mean to me too! But I'll show you! I heard about this treasure, including this neat-o stone that's supposed to make me un-stake-able, and when I find it, I'm gonna get back at everyone who was ever mean to me! The only hold-up is that I really don't know anything about tunneling . . ."

Spike's ears twitch, and he fights through the blur of his hangover to comprehend what the obnoxious blonde is saying. "A stone, you say, pet? To make a vampire invincible?"

"Uh-huh. I made Brian and some other minions to help me get it, but they weren't exactly smart _before_ they became vampires and I think I might have done it wrong. All they do is nod and grunt."

Spike raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Got a little gang started, have you?"

"Yep!" Harmony says gleefully. "I'm totally gonna be the Slayer's nemesis once I get the jewel! I don't remember what it was called exactly. Gem of Inara, or something."

"The Gem of Amarra? In Sunnydale?"

Spike is familiar with the legend of this particular jewel, the veritable Unholy Grail for vampires, a relic that grants immunity to sunlight, crosses, staking, and holy water. Come to think of it, he last remembers hearing of the gem being kept in the "valley of the sun" . . . Sunny-bloody-dale, sure enough. If it's really hidden here in this exasperating town, which has already managed to witness some truly spectacular kickings of his arse, then he wants all the information he can squeeze out of the dim-witted blonde before he starts searching for it himself.

"So, where _precisely_ would this treasure be sitting, pet?" Spike asks, forcing a seductive smile onto his face and leaning closer to Harmony. Flattered by his seeming attraction, she arches her neck coquettishly, batting her eyelashes.

"I dunno. Some sealed underground crypt or something. You'd have to ask Brian. He's the one who found the parchment and then started matching it up with all the maps of the Sunnydale sewer tunnels."

His grin widening, Spike lazily trails one hand over Harmony's fluffy hair, pausing his hand at her jaw.

"Where's dear Brian, then, eh?"

"Oh, he's back at our lair, right underneath the Espresso Pump, you know, that coffee shop downtown. I was on my way back there this morning when the sun was coming up. Thanks for letting me hide in your car. Hey!" she squeals as his fingers lock tightly around her neck. "What are you doing, you big freak?"

She struggles against Spike's grip, but he just laughs. A sharp twist, and her head detaches from her body with a crack, both pieces of her crumbling to dust a moment later.

"Right," Spike smiles wickedly, patting Harmony dust off his palms and looking out through the clear patch in the DeSoto's blackened windows. "Enough moping. Gotta see a bloke about a gem . . . and then, Slayer, you and I are gonna dance . . ."

* * *

"Did you see the way Professor Walsh looked at Lorna at the end of class?" Willow whispers to Oz as they exit the Psychology lecture hall.

"Yeah, right after that TA guy, Riley, talked to her," Oz agrees. "Sinister."

Lorna walks beside them in silence, also contemplating the odd reactions of Professor Walsh and the teaching assistant, Riley Finn. She'd done absolutely nothing to draw attention to herself; the only time she'd spoken during class was to answer, "Present," when Riley read her name off the attendance sheet. Professor Walsh had made eye-contact with her – like she'd been doing with every student – but when her eyes fell on Lorna, there seemed to be a hint of a glare in her expression. And again, just a moment ago when they'd all left their seats, Maggie Walsh's narrowed eyes had followed Lorna out into the hallway of the academic building.

"Maybe she likes you," Willow suggests hopefully.

"So a ferocious glare is Sunnydale-speak for 'I anticipate you will be a good student and a worthwhile contribution to this class'?" Lorna counters, eyebrows raised.

"No, in Sunnydale a glare usually just means 'a glare'," Oz shrugs. "I've heard she's really tough. Maybe it's a test, to see how long you last until you crack under pressure."

"One day of college and my matriculating buddies are already anticipating the inevitable psychological breakdown," says an amused male voice to their left, and the girls and Oz turn to see Xander lounging against a nearby wall.

"Xander!" Willow squeals excitedly, bounding over to give him a bear hug. "What are you doing here? What about your road trip?"

"Thought you were going to drive to all fifty states," adds Oz.

"Well, somebody finally told me about Hawaii," shrugs the tall brunette. "Basically I got as far as Oxnard and the engine fell out of my car. Literally."

His eyes drift idly to Lorna – as if wondering why she is standing so close to his friends – then he looks past Oz and Willow's shoulders towards the mass of students vacating the classroom. "Buffy back yet?" he asks quietly.

Willow sighs. "Xand . . . she isn't coming back. Oh, and this is Lorna! She's the new Slayer!" she adds in an excited whisper.

Xander's face shifts rapidly from disappointment at the no-Buffy news, to obligatory acknowledgement of Lorna's presence, then to absolute shock at Willow's third sentence.

"Who's the how what?"

* * *

"Keep an eye on her, Riley," says Professor Walsh, her eyes pausing on the name 'Lorna Branson' as she checks over her class roll sheet.

"You're certain, then? She's the girl in that picture from Cleveland, the H.S.T.-related cave-in?"

"Without a doubt. Your intuition was correct."

"And we know nothing else about her?" asks Agent Finn. "No identification, no records?"

"As of yet, we don't have the intel to determine whether she's an H.S.T., a renegade vigilante, or just a bystander," Maggie answers. "So far, we know is that she was the only living thing that fled the scene. We need to learn her purpose, her motives, and what she's capable of. Then we'll determine if we need to put her down."

* * *

_A/N: Bonus points if you found the subtle Firefly reference. Heeheehee!_


	5. Chapter 5: Blue-Eyed Fiend

A/N: This chapter contains quotes/scenes from "The Freshman", "Lovers Walk", and "The Harsh Light of Day", plus a tiny bit from "School Hard". Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited!

* * *

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Called as the next Slayer, Lorna Branson is adapting to life in Sunnydale, which includes starting her college courses, living with Joyce and Dawn Summers, and earning the trust and friendship of the Scooby Gang. Little does she know that she's about to cross paths with a deadly and seductive vampire, who has a thing for Slayers . . ._

Chapter 5: Blue-Eyed Fiend

Xander hasn't stopped spluttering since Willow told him who Lorna is. He splutters all the way to their next class, splutters in the hall while he waits for them, then splutters down the street as the four teenagers walk to the Bronze.

"But . . . but she can't . . . but she's not . . . she's too darn _creepy_ to be the Slayer!" he bursts out, landing on a seemingly legitimate excuse at last.

"Xander!" Willow admonishes, punching his arm and looking apologetically at Lorna.

"Kendra was kinda creepy too, but that could have been her accent," Oz reminds Xander. "Er, not that you're creepy, Lorna."

Lorna just shrugs. With her near-black hair and sallow skin tone compared to most of these California kids, she's not gunning for anyone's vote as Beauty Queen. If 'creepy' gets the job done, then she has no problem coming across as creepy.

"You can't say those kinds of things right in front of her," Willow whispers to the boys as they pay for their Cokes and find seats where they can watch a pool game.

"We could say it behind her back," Oz suggests. "That was my sarcastic voice," he reassures Willow when she stares at him in befuddled horror.

"Sounds a lot like your regular voice," Xander informs him, toasting the witch-and-wearwolf couple with his Solo cup of Coke.

"Guys," Willow interrupts, staring sternly at them with a very Giles-like expression on her face. "Quit being jerks! Lorna's great, Xander! Joyce and Dawnie love her, and she's really helped them not be so sad about Buffy being AWOL. You've got to give her a chance."

Disregarding the nearby debate about her, Lorna ties off her braid with a rubber band and takes a sip of Coke. She silently looks around the crowded bar, memorizing the locations of all the entrances, identifying potential weapons, trying to filter out the noise of the band, and sensing . . .

"Vampires," she murmurs. "Excuse me." She sets her cup on their little table, stands, and slips into the crowd, heading for the front door.

"See? _See_?" Xander insists with a shudder, pointing at Lorna's back. "Did Buffy ever do that? _Uber_-creepy!"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure Buffy _did_ do that. At least once," Oz says, pondering it.

Moving swiftly through the dancing couples and relaxing students, Lorna pulls a black bandana with cut-out eyeholes out of the back pocket of her jeans and ties it on her face in the shadows just outside the Bronze. She came up with the mask on her first night in Sunnydale, right after being taken by Giles over to the Summers' house, and wears it to protect Joyce and Dawn as much as she can from the fate that took her own family's lives, as much as a Slayer can protect anyone close to them.

Drawing her stake like it's a boot knife, she circles around the exterior of the Bronze, following her intuition. Sure enough, a freshman boy is backed up against the alley wall, four burly vampires closing in on him.

"Somebody help me!" the boy squeals as the foremost vamp, a female with a mime's-worth of makeup and a trashy schoolgirl outfit, bares her fangs and slinks toward him.

Taking aim, Lorna hurls her stake like a throwing-star into the back of the closest vampire, which explodes into dust before any of them have any clue of her presence.

"Tom!" the other female vampire of the group gasps, then turns to the leader. "Sunday, what do we do?"

"Shut up!" the punked-out vampire girl snarls at her, before changing to a sickly sweet, unfazed voice, "Easy. We kill her, drain her, and . . ."

Lorna's fist jabs up into her chin, cutting of her words with a _snap_! She snatches up the stake from the dust of the first vamp, spins, drives it into the chest of another lackey, and sends Sunday flying into the brick wall with a well-placed roundhouse kick. The last remaining minion tries to flee in the direction of the street, but Lorna races after him, grabs his collar, and judo-style flips him across her back so that he sprawls out on the ground.

"What . . . what are you?" gasps the vampire, scuttling away across the alley like a crab, wide yellow eyes on the black-garbed girl above him.

"She's the Slayer, you dolt!" shouts Sunday. Clearly unnerved by the methodical way Lorna is picking off her gang, she grabs the arm of the frightened college kid and holds him in front of her like a shield, bare fangs precariously close to the boy's neck.

"Help!" the freshman whimpers pathetically. Lorna smashes her fist into the face of the crab-walking vamp, plunges her stake down into its chest, and stands, facing Sunday and her hostage. Sunday tightens her hold on the student.

"D-don't come any closer, or I'll bite!"

"He'll live," Lorna retorts, shrugging as she advances, her dark eyes transfixing Sunday's amber ones, stake at the ready. "You won't."

Desperately hoping to catch the Slayer in a bluff, Sunday ducks her head to sink her fangs into the freshman . . . and thus is completely unprepared for the heel of Lorna's hand to come jabbing into her face, driving the vampire's nose up into its bony forehead. Sunday barely has a second to howl in pain before the stake impales her and she disintegrates. The college kid recoils from the cloud of dust and looks at Lorna in wonder.

"What . . . was she really going to b-b-bite me?"

"You've got a lot to learn about Sunnydale. Better scram," she says firmly to the awestruck freshman, who nods a few times before scampering away towards campus. Exhaling in determination, Lorna turns around and starts to head back for the Bronze when the sound of . . . _clapping_, slow and somehow sarcastic, meets her ears.

"Nice work, luv," says a male, British voice. "This all seems so delightfully familiar. So . . . who might you be, pet? The Lone Ranger?"

From the shadows steps a man in an ankle-length leather duster jacket, a red silk blouse and skin-tight black shirt underneath. His hair is white-blond and slicked back, shiny in the moonlight, matching the glint off his steel-toed boots. Eyes like deep, clear lake water sparkle as he grins at her.

He's the living embodiment of a father's worst fear: the good-looking, seductive Bad Boy seeking to sweep away a chaste daughter. And he smells of cigarettes, strong liquor, musk, and _vampire_.

Stake at the ready, Lorna waits for him to vamp out, already plotting strike routes in her head, determining how best to drive her weapon into his chest. But he doesn't attack, just circles her slowly with ten feet of space between them.

"Slayer, eh? Let's have a look at the new girl."

Voice purring, he eyes her up and down – letting Lorna notice how long and effeminate his lashes are – and his smile intensifies. "Hmm. I like you. You're healthier than the last Slayer, you know. A right little bird, she was, the Summers girl. Limbs like twigs, like my Dru. But you . . ." – another objectifying sweep with those cobalt eyes, which she expects will soon turn yellow and half-hidden by the demon's lumpy forehead – "you're a fighter, you are. Muscles in all the right places. God, I'm going to enjoy this dance."

Completely at ease, he inserts a thumb into one of his belt loops, drawing her attention to the taut front of his black jeans. Sickened, she glares back up at his face. He's not just looking at her like she's a Lunchable or an eagerly anticipated brawl; there's lust in his eyes and it frightens her.

No longer caring about who strikes first, she lunges with stake extended, and watches the fear of imminent death flash through the vamp's eyes. It's the first time she's staked a vampire in human form, and the instant of absolute terror in those blue orbs makes her hold back ever so slightly . . .

And she misses . . .

Or rather, the blonde vampire throws his arm up to block her attack and she drives the stake through his forearm rather than his chest. He gives a strangled howl of pain and falls on his back, the chunk of wood driven perpendicularly through the muscles between his wrist and elbow.

"Bloody hell, woman!" he snarls at her, but it's an outraged, _that-freaking-hurt!_ sort-of snarl, not the snarky kind she usually receives right before she dusts the latest Slayer-oblivious newborn, or the pitiful kind she just heard from Sunday's minions.

"God, you're a regular killjoy, you are!" he accuses, extracting the wooden point from his arm. "And look! It tore the leather! What the bloody hell'd you do that for?"

She see his hands shaking as he clenches his palm around the wound, trying to stem his blood flow. On her mental running list of firsts tonight, she adds '_See a vampire bleed'_ to the record. He remains sitting on his rear in the shadowy alleyway, glaring up at her with a mixture of injury and intrigue, not even making an attempt to run, like he's taunting her . . . daring her to make another move.

"Maybe you haven't heard," she ridicules, transitioning seamlessly to the darkest tone she can manage without growling herself. "I'm the Slayer. I hunt your kind down like the animals you are, and I kill you."

"Ooh . . . so cold, baby," he snickers, his eyes infuriatingly playful again. Faster than she expects, he leaps to his feet with a flourish of leather and plants his foot over the stake, red fluid still streaming down his arm. "Got a name, luv, since we're becoming such good mates, you and I?"

His British pet names are starting to irk her, but not enough for her to reveal her identity. She's the one in the mask after all, staring down the human-faced demon with the cornflower-blue eyes.

"Change," she orders him, drawing her spare stake from her other boot.

"Name's 'Change'?" he snorts. "Pity. Knew a girl named 'Chance' once. Lovely, tasted even better than she looked."

"No, _you_ change," Lorna repeats, gesturing at his face with her stake. "No more games."

The vampire smiles wider, gleefully malicious yet somehow still . . . charming.

"What can I say, Slayer? I like to draw things out, enjoy it as long as I can. The thought of killing you and tasting your sweet fire really revs my engine. Gotta remember this feeling for those long cold nights in my car."

Deliberately, he runs two fingers across his fly, grinning with his tongue just visible between his teeth. "Ooh, sweetheart, I saw that squirm," he laughs victoriously at Lorna's outraged look. "Gotta remember that too. Delicious."

This isn't right, isn't how it's supposed to happen. She _never_ jokes with the fiends. To her, it's business: Stake, _poof_; jab, stake, _poof_. Punch, kick, stake, _poof_. Not a single vampire has ever laid a hand or foot on her. _Ever_. So how has this one managed to get so deeply under her skin?

"You're disgusting," she says with gritted teeth. "I'm not going to wait all night, don't even know why I'm waiting at all. Vamp out. Now."

"Oh, I get it, precious." He saunters forward one step, lingering just out of staking distance. "You don't want to stake me human, do you? Too close to home for some reason. Trying to give me a little dignity before the dusting?"

"Vamp out or stand down!" she shouts, temper rising.

Staring into her with fierce eyes – eerily, vibrant blue – the vampire runs his tongue lustily across his teeth once again. Then, still facing her, he slowly retreats, taking cat-like steps backwards in the direction of the street.

"I s'pose we can repeat this special little dance another night, then, pet," he smiles. "Maybe one of us will get lucky."

He's thirty feet away now, at the edge of the building, and with a swish of his coat he rounds the corner, vanishing from sight. Already chiding herself for letting him walk, Lorna stuffs her stakes back into the calves of her boots, rips off her D.I.Y. mask, and rushes back into the Bronze. Willow catches sight of her and stands up in alarm.

"Lorna! We were getting worried! What –?"

"We've got to go," she hisses. "New development. Have to consult with Giles."

Xander snorts lightly. "_Consult_ with Giles? Our Giles? What is he now, Secretary of State?"

"He's her Watcher, Xand," Willow fills him in, handing Lorna her Coke cup. Lorna drains the soda in one gulp and pitches the Solo cup in a trash bin, almost wishing it was something stronger. Right now, all she really wants is to blot out the image of those indelible blue eyes.

* * *

Spike literally _struts_ down the streets of Sunnydale, a long forgotten spring in his step. He just taunted a Slayer nearly into _tears_ and then walked away unharmed. Well . . . nearly unharmed, he amends, eyeing the hole where she pieced through his sleeve. The wound has sealed itself, leaving only the rip in his duster for evidence. Shame. He's bloody fond of that duster.

Finally arriving at his destination, Spike pauses at the front porch of 1630 Revello Drive, grins devilishly, and whispers, "Home sweet home." Five steps later, he raps his fist gently against the front door.


	6. Chapter 6: A Bloody History

A/N: Thank you all for your feedback! Now that the school semester is over, I'll probably be able to update more consistently. I know it's been a while, and this chapter's kinda short, but the next bit is almost done and should be up in a day or so, along with the next chapter of 'Five Words or Less'.

This chapter contains quotes/scenes from "School Hard" and "Lovers Walk". The reference to Spike knowing 'a girl named Chance' in the previous chapter was a homage to Amber Benson (Tara)'s indie movie _Chance_, where James Marsters plays her roommate. ;)

* * *

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Lorna Branson has her first encounter with a Master Vampire – Spike is back in Sunnydale and ready to dance. Meanwhile, she still has to convince some members of the Scooby Gang that she's one of the good guys . . ._

Chapter 6: A Bloody History

Lorna leads the cavalcade to Giles's apartment, her eyes combing the streets for any sign of that aggravating vampire or any other creature of the night. The other teenagers remain quiet, sensing Lorna's tension. None of them notice the camouflaged demon-hunter lurking about fifty paces behind them, with his night-vision binoculars trained on the four college-age kids.

They quickly traverse the few blocks to Giles' apartment, and Lorna raps on the door.

"In the olden days, we would have just walked in," Xander points out, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"That was at the library," Willow corrects him in a muted tone.

The handle turns, and Giles opens the door. "Lorna!" he exclaims in surprise. "Come in, come in. Are you alright? Has something happened?"

"Vampire," she answers as she, Willow, Xander, and Oz enter the apartment. The boys plop down on the sofa and start rifling through Giles's record collection, while Willow curls up in the squashiest armchair.

"Good Heavens! Were any of you hurt?"

"No, he just managed to . . . get away. That's a first for me." She ducks her head, embarrassed that she hadn't just staked the blond menace and put an end to him.

"Hiya, Big G," Xander says with an exaggerated wave as though trying to get Giles's attention from the opposite side of a football stadium. "Remember us? The Scooby Gang? The ones who've been fighting demons with you for three years?"

"Xander, if you don't stop flailing about, you're going to knock the Ramadan Effigy off my shelf and I shall be very cross," says Giles as he places a kettle of water on his stove, then picks up a paper and pen and returns to the living room, ready to jot notes. "Now, Lorna, what was unusual about this particular vampire? Anything noteworthy, any striking qualities?"

She sits down opposite him, running over the surreal encounter in her head, her fingers twitching anxiously in her lap.

"He acted . . . pompous, and teasing, as though the fact that I'm the Slayer was absolutely not a threat to him. Like he'd been a vampire for a long time and was experienced. And he didn't transform the entire time. He just prowled around me, like it was a game."

"What did he look like?" asked Willow, hugging her knees to her chest.

_Like a guy who thought he was God's gift to women . . ._

"Leather coat, black and red clothes, albino coloring. Just another vampire. It shouldn't have been such a big deal. The only reason I hesitated was because he was still in human face."

"Wait a sec. Albino? Like . . . white blond hair?" asks Oz.

Xander starts snickering, and Willow and Giles come to the same conclusion, both wearing horrified expressions.

"Oh, good lord," sighs Giles, removing his spectacles. "Spike."

"Spike?" Lorna repeats, puzzled. "This vampire has been here before?"

"Yes. Spike, or William the Bloody, came here to Sunnydale last year in the hopes that the Hellmouth's supernatural properties would restore his lover, Drusilla the Mad, to full strength. I have some information on him in one of the Watcher Archives. Here . . ."

He searches his bookcase for the relevant volume and pulls out a well-worn text, then starts flipping through it to locate the passage he seeks.

"Ah, yes, right here . . . William the Bloody, exact age indeterminate, though the reports of carnage attributed to him begin in 1880 . . . most severe in Yorkshire 1888, when he first began using the alias 'Spike' . . . he defeated the Slayers Xin Rong in 1900 . . . and Nikki Wood in 1977 . . ."

"He has killed _two_ Slayers?" questions Lorna, her fidgeting hands suddenly going still.

"I'm afraid so," Giles replies apologetically, handing Lorna the text so she can read the entry for herself.

"Why didn't Buffy kill him?" she asks, carefully setting the old book on her knees.

"They . . . they apparently parted as allies. Spike offered to join Buffy to stop Angelus in order to reclaim Drusilla from him, at least that is what Joyce was able to surmise from what she overheard of their conversation. She was distraught in the aftermath of Buffy's departure and the bewildering knowledge of Buffy's destiny as a Slayer."

"So . . . how do you know that Spike didn't turn on Buffy? Maybe he double-crossed her once Angelus was defeated and killed her too. He seems to have it in for Slay–"

"No!" Xander cuts off Lorna, pointing angrily at her. She disregards him, keeping her face turned down towards the antiquated volume. "You don't know what you're talking about! You just _want_ Buffy to be dead because that makes you the top Slayer!"

"Xander," Willow whispers admonishingly. "Lorna doesn't want that, and 'sides, we know Buffy came back for her stuff and left a note with her mom. Buffy just... I dunno, maybe being around us and doing Slayer stuff would remind her too much of Angel, so she just left."

"And Spike and Drusilla were traced as far as Nicaragua by agents of the Watchers' Council," adds Giles. "No, I think it's reasonable to assume Spike had no part in Buffy's departure. Though, as far as Spike's motives in returning to Sunnydale, I'm afraid I'm quite flummoxed."

"Doesn't matter why he's here," Lorna murmurs, still reading the entry on William the Bloody. "I'm the Slayer, and he's just another vampire I need to dust." _Just another vampire . . ._

"Lorna," Giles says cautiously, leaning forward and waiting until she looks up at him before he continues, "I understand and appreciate your dedication, but if I learned nothing else from my interaction with Kendra, your predecessor, it's that a Slayer must incorporate her destiny into her already existing life. While Spike is certainly dangerous, any specific vendetta leveled against him will only put you at unnecessary risk."

"Risk and danger were in the job description," Lorna says impassively, continuing to read. "Ever notice that the word 'predecessor' comes from the same root as 'deceased'? As in _pre_-deceased, 'died first, you're next'?"

Her detached statement completely throws him off. He squints at her – or maybe that's a glare, she's not completely sure – then predictably whisks out his handkerchief and cleans his spectacles, as though the monotonous action will erase her last words from his brain as easily as the miniscule smudges on his lenses. Xander jumps in on the moment of Giles's speechlessness.

"Hey, G-Man, do you ever think that all your know-how is wasted on being Hellmouth High librarian? Couldn't you be, you know, Dean of the History Department or something?" he suggests, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Oh, yes, marvelous. I'm getting career advice from the ice-cream-truck driver who resides in his parents' basement," Giles intones, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Willow giggles, and Lorna cracks a small smile, head still deep in the book. Just then, the phone rings, and Giles stands to answer it.

"Hello? Oh, yes, Joyce, she's here." Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he says, "Lorna, Mrs. Summers is asking for you."

Closing the text, Lorna skirts around the furniture and takes the phone from Giles. "Hi Mrs. Summers."

"Hi honey. I called Willow's dorm number first to see if you were there."

"I'm really sorry I didn't call you. Willow's friend Xander showed up and we all went to the Bronze for a bit. I'm about to head back home."

"Oh, you don't need to apologize, dear. I wasn't upset. I just wondered, because you hadn't been out this late before, and Dawn and I . . ."

"Hello, Joyce," says a voice on the other end of the line . . . an ominously familiar British voice.

Lorna blanches, the phone slipping out of her hands.

"Oh my god . . . he's there."

"What's wrong?" Willow asks right as Giles inquires, "Who's there?"

"Spike . . . at the Summers' house. I've got to go!"

She sprints for the door and out into the darkness, running full-tilt for Revello Drive.

* * *

_A/N: The name of the Chinese Slayer and the key dates in Spike's background is from the Buffy Wiki site (and "Fool for Love"). Pretty please leave a review!_


	7. Chapter 7: Vampires and Marshmallows?

A/N: Heeheehee! Hope the last chapter's cliffhanger didn't torment you too much. =) This chapter contains quotes/scenes from "Lovers Walk", "Harsh Light of Day", and "Fool for Love".

* * *

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: The new Sunnydale Slayer, Lorna Branson, reads up on the snarky blond Brit, William the Bloody, while Xander criticizes Giles's lack of ambition. A phone call from Joyce reveals Spike's presence back at the Summers' house, and Lorna leaves pronto._

Chapter 7: Vampires, Commandos, and Marshmallows, Oh My

Lorna pelts down the side-street away from Giles's apartment, spurred on by horrified thoughts of what Spike might be doing to Mrs. Summers and Dawn. _This can't be happening, not again . . . not after all I've done to try to protect them . . . this is why Slayers can't have families, why they're supposed to be alone . . ._

As she makes a sharp left turn onto a central street – her boots skidding slightly on the pavement – she hears a rustle in the roadside bushes and instinctively whips a stake out of her boot. When nothing leaps out to attack her, she backs several paces away and then keeps running towards 1630 Revello Drive. If any other demons are prowling the Hellmouth, tonight she will give them some slack.

But not this 'Spike' guy. Not the one vampire who's managed to break her rhythm, to laugh in the face of her calling. She's gotten so used to expecting the rumors about her in the demon world to be intimidating enough to make the older vamps cautious and the newborn vamps wet their pants and run crying to their sires. Even human Xander has caught on to the 'creepy' vibe that she emits, not entirely by accident – with her dark attire and her harshly-restrained hair and her mask. There's no way she's going to let all the years of her father's training and the near-flawless technique she's achieved suddenly go to waste because some punk vampire gets his rocks off by killing Slayers.

This time, when the foliage at the street corner moves, she feels the eyes following her and freezes in a fighting stance, senses momentarily attuning to her immediate surroundings. There's no indication of any demonic presence . . . so the shrub spy must be human, a distraction she feels no need to confront.

"I _so_ don't have time for this," she growls at the offensive bush. "Leave me alone!"

Breaking into a run again, Lorna wracks her brains to recall the maps of Sunnydale that she studied when first plotting out her patrol routes. At the next turn, she looks over her shoulder and catches a glimpse of her pursuer: a tall man in combat gear, his face hidden behind a ski mask and goggles. If he wasn't almost keeping pace with her Slayer speed, she wouldn't be giving this commando guy a second thought. Intent on leading whatever or whoever is following her on a merry chase, she takes a winding street parallel to Revello Drive, cuts through campus, and then hurtles around an extra block before circling around to the back porch of Joyce's house. All in all, she must have left Giles's apartment only six or seven minutes previously, and a glance back in the direction she came from indicates that the unwanted army dude is no longer on her trail.

The back door of 1630 is slightly open, and Lorna leaps silently up the steps and flattens herself against the wall beside the door, listening. If Spike is holding the Summers' mother and daughter hostage, barging in could only put them in more danger. The first thing she hears is some kind of fluid being poured into a ceramic mug, and then the light clanging of a spoon stirring the liquid.

"So I happen to walk by, and she's making out with a _Chaos_ demon!" says Spike's voice in what seems to be astonished frustration. "Have you ever _seen_ a Chaos demon? They're all slime and antlers, they're disgusting. I know she only did it to hurt me . . ."

Lorna can't believe her ears. She peeks in through the crack of the open door and sees Dawn and Mrs. Summers sitting at the kitchen island _with_ Spike, mugs of hot cocoa in front of all three of them. He's . . . he's _whining_ about his _love life!_

"So then I said I wasn't putting up with it anymore. She said 'fine'. I said, 'Yeah, I've got an unlife, you know' . . . and she said . . . she said we could still be friends. God, I'm so unhappy!"

He drops his intensely blond head down on the island countertop and sighs dejectedly. Seeing her chance, Lorna draws her stake and is about to charge inside when Dawn starts _patting_ the vampire's shoulder, murmuring, "There, there," in a comforting tone.

"I thought we were gonna make up, you know?" Spike sniffles, sitting back up and taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Well, she sounds very unreasonable," says Joyce.

"She is. She's out of her mind. That's what I miss most about her."

"She sounds kinda fickle to me," Dawn comments. "First you, then Angel, then you again, then this Chaos demon."

"Oh, and that isn't even the worst of it," Spike adds, suddenly remembering. "So, I leave Dru with that hideous creature that she chose over me, and I drive back here, lookin' for a nice fight with the Slayer to get my pluck back . . . And then, next thing I know, I'm waking up in my car and my hand's on fire. Turns out this half-addled whore–" he glances at Dawn and corrects his language, "-rrible . . . this horrible girl had climbed in my car while I was asleep and left the sodding door open. Poof! Flames everywhere. Nearly did me in."

Astonished that this infamous vampire is spilling his sob story to Joyce and Dawn, Lorna maintains her hiding place, hoping that her new mom and sister will get out of the path between her and the bleached demon. In the meantime, she routinely pulls her mask out of her back pocket and slips it on.

"Well, Spike," says Joyce, her motherly tone emerging even towards the vicious, human-faced monster, "sometimes, even when two people seem right for each other, their lives just take different paths. When the girls' father and I started having trouble –"

"No, this is different! Our love was eternal! Literally!" He pauses, dropping his gaze into his cocoa mug, and when he glances back up into Joyce's face his eyes are humble, child-like. "You got any of those little marshmallows?"

Joyce beams at him, looking completely heedless of the threat he poses to her and her daughter's lives. "Let me look," she says pleasantly, rifling through a cupboard, and Dawn hops up to rinse her mug in the sink. They're both on the other side of the island from Spike, maybe the only chance Lorna will get. So she takes it.

"Touching story," she says darkly, shoving the back door open. "Can I stake him now?"

Both Joyce and Dawn gasp. Spike's cornflower-blue eyes stare into Lorna's, and he stands up with a _swish_ of leather, facing her.

"Well . . . hello, gorgeous."

"Spike," she says, low and threatening. "You shouldn't have come here."

"I do what I please."

"Lorna, no!" Dawn cries out, her back against the sink.

"Ah, the mystery woman has a name," grins Spike, glancing briefly at Dawn before fixing his eyes on Lorna again. "Lorna the Leather Slayer." He holds up his sleeve sadly. "Have you any idea how much sentimental value this thing's got? Pulled it off a Slayer I killed in New York. Now _that_ was a sweet dance."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Lorna says grimly, inching one step towards him with her stake held at the ready. "How you killed Nikki Wood in 1977. Sounds like you're marketing yourself as some kind of Slayer serial killer, Spike. Is that why you came back? To finish what you started, to kill Buffy?"

Spike rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "Yes, cutie, I came back to dear ol' Sunny-D to kill the Slayer, a'right? What more do you want, A Mastermind's Guide to Slayer Snuffing? It's not about the moves, luv."

"Then what _is_ it about?" she demands, watching him warily for any hint of movement towards Joyce or Dawn.

"You're not ready to know," he sneers, running his tongue across his grinning teeth. "Lorna."

"Don't'!" Dawn exclaims as Lorna flips her stake into a backhand stance and advances on Spike. The teenager comes running around the island and stands between the Slayer and her target, her back vulnerable to the bloodsucker. "He's never tried to hurt us!"

"Dawn, get out of the way!" she pleads, her dark eyes never leaving Spike's sapphire ones.

"Mom, don't let her stake him!" Dawn yells over Lorna. Spike only looks amused by this surprising turn of events. He points at Dawn's neck behind her back and grins snarkily at the furious expression on Lorna's face.

"Touch her and you're dead, demon!"

"Lorna . . . Spike was just here to talk," Joyce says in a placating tone, still holding the bag of marshmallows in one hand. "He behaved very pleasantly."

"Guess I overstayed my welcome," Spike says, his voice calm but also perhaps slightly disappointed. "Didn't realize Lone Ranger Lorna here was staying with you ladies."

He reaches for his mug on the island, drains the hot chocolate in one swig, then slides the empty cup back across the countertop and begins taking slow steps towards the Summers' living room. "I'd better be heading out. It isn't time yet," he adds ominously.

"Time for what?" Lorna demands of Spike as he continues slinking towards the front door.

"Our dance."

With a twist of his coat, he sprints for the front door and out into the night. Lorna reaches the entryway just in time to see his luminescent hair disappear into a manhole halfway down the street. She immediately locks the door and runs back into the kitchen for the phone.

"Lorna, honey, I'm sorry I didn't explain . . ." Mrs. Summers begins.

"You had a _vampire_ in your house, Joyce," Lorna mutters as she dials. "A vicious, bloodthirsty killer, who could have murdered you and Dawn in seconds."

"But he didn't," Dawn says irritably, her arms crossed over her chest.

"You shouldn't have taken that chance," replies Lorna, holding the phone to her ear and waiting while it rings. "Willow? It's me! Can you come over to the Summers' place tomorrow before class? I need you to do a spell . . ."

* * *

_A/N: To be continued!_


	8. Chapter 8: Hollow Threats

A/N: I'm back! Sorry updating took so long this time. In my defense, I had to move out of my parents' house and back into a dorm for the summer, so my life was crazy for about half a week. Hopefully the smexy updates to 'Five Words or Less' kept you satisfied meanwhile. =)

This chapter contains quotes/scenes from "The I in Team", "Living Conditions", "Harsh Light of Day", and "Fool for Love". And one teeny-tiny _Star Trek_ reference.

I know the time scale is running sort of slowly (the last six chapters have taken place in 24 hours of Buffyverse time!) but things are about to pick up. Thank you everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed!

* * *

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Lorna dodges a commando, and faces off against Spike in the Summers house, only to discover that he was there for . . . a listening ear? To Lorna's dismay, Mrs. Summers and Dawn have bonded with the blond menace and don't want her to stake him. Nevertheless, Lorna calls Willow over to de-invite him from 1630 Revello Drive._

Chapter 8: Hollow Threats

Later that night, deep underground in the base beneath Lowell House, Professor Walsh reads her favorite lieutenant's report on Lorna Branson's movements and activities.

"I expected more from you, Riley," she says with a sigh. "You let a _girl_ outrun you, a girl who may pose a threat to the Initiative and all that it stands for."

"Professor," Agent Finn protests, "with all due respect, I've never seen a girl who could run like that. She isn't normal. She's perceptive, clever . . . she spotted Agent Gates and Miller faster than any other H.S.T. we've encountered. It took us forty-two minutes to track her to the Bronze and then that apartment, and when she detected our presence she eluded us in twenty-eight seconds . . ."

"And you weren't able to determine her purpose in going to that apartment, or the reason for her hasty departure?"

"We didn't get close enough to plant a bug on the apartment in time to record her conversation, but city utility records report an incoming phone call approximately a minute before she left. It was traced to 1630 Revello Drive here in Sunnydale. And we have intel on two of the three people she arrived at the apartment with, two other students in your class: Willow Rosenberg and Daniel Osbourne. The third companion is an unknown, but we're running his picture through our database now."

"I see. Well, that's better than nothing. Get back to our man in the utility company and tell him I want that phone call. I'm counting on you Riley. Make me proud."

* * *

"There she is!" Willow hisses. Seizing Lorna by the arm, she ducks into the lunch line at the dining hall and hides her face behind a tray.

"Come on, Will, is Kathy really that bad?" Lorna grins, watching Willow's peppy roommate pass them – conspicuously wearing one of Willow's flamboyantly multicolored sweaters.

"Absolutely!" whispers Willow, tentatively lowering her tray. "Lorna, she has her outfits written up on index cards and she gives them names like 'Easter at the White House'. I find that deeply, deeply disturbed, don't you?"

"Then why is she wearing _your_ sweater?"

"She says I spilled pancake syrup on one of hers . . . well, I let her think it was syrup. It was really for this potion I was trying to brew, and it sort-of . . . splashed . . . and it was totally an accident!"

"Boyfriend or loan shark?" says a male voice in front of them. Lorna and Willow look up into a pair of gray eyes which belong to an older student they haven't yet met.

"Excuse me?" asks Lorna warily, wondering why this guy is butting in on their business.

"The person you're hiding from," the boy replies.

"Oh . . . Both! Ugly break up," Willow quickly fibs, glancing around Lorna to see where Kathy went.

Lorna chuckles quietly to herself as she levels her food tray and starts selecting meal items.

"Freshman, huh?" assumes the older student, still trying to make light conversation. He's fairly attractive – with soft-looking brown hair, a tall athletic build, and a warm smile – but it's also apparent to her that he's smugly aware of his looks. 'Self-assured,' is how she'd describe his expression, anticipating goo-goo eyes from girls wherever he goes.

"It's that obvious?" Lorna responds to his query.

"There are signs. For instance, people who've been around for a while know how to use their dining hall card. Work it right, and you can get three meals worth." He demonstrates, piling his tray with food. "The goal is to polish off as much as humanly possible in one sitting – enough to get you through the day if necessary – while chipmunking items for future consumption."

Willow ponders his suggestion thoughtfully, but Lorna sticks to what she picked out and hands her punch card to the cashier. The three of them stand awkwardly with their trays, the older boy lingering beside them.

"So . . ." he begins to say.

"There's Oz," Lorna points out to Willow, spotting the were-boy and Xander sitting at a table halfway across the seating area. "See you around," she adds obligingly, meeting the eyes of the dining-card schemer.

"Parker Abrams," he introduces himself. "I'm at Kresge Hall."

"Hi," Lorna answers curtly. Willow makes up for her brusqueness by offering Parker Abrams her hand beneath their food trays.

"Willow Rosenberg, Stevenson," the redhead informs him. "And this is Lorna Branson."

"Okay. Well, see you around, Willow and Lorna of Stevenson."

Grinning at them, Parker strolls away, and Willow turns to Lorna as they make their way between tables to where Oz and Xander await them.

"You were a little . . . cold," she shrugs – an impressive feat considering the precariously balanced food on her tray.

"To that Parker guy?"

"Yeah. What gives?"

"Well," Lorna answers in a calm but burdened voice, "it's been my experience that cute guys who act all sweet and understanding usually turn out to be dirtbags. Trust me – a guy who thinks he's a catch? Best thing you can say to him is 'Catch ya later'."

Off Willow's scandalized expression she backtracks, "Or he might be a . . . genuine, nice guy . . . like Oz."

"Or Xander," Willow notes with a friendly smile as they reach the table.

"Hey. Say hi to non-college guy," Xander smirks at Willow, immediately snatching a wrapped ham sandwich off her overflowing tray.

As soon as Lorna and Willow take their seats, another tray appears at their table, and Kathy the Evil Roommate along with it.

"Hi everybody, squeeze in!" she giggles enthusiastically, wriggling in between Willow and Xander.

"Er . . . Lorna, Oz, Xander, this is Kathy, my roommate," Willow introduces with as little stiffness as she can feign. "Wearing my sweater," she adds under her breath, leaning over towards Lorna while she pretends to adjust her backpack.

Oblivious, Kathy grins and lifts a huge juicy burger to her mouth.

"So, where are you from, Kathy?" asks Xander.

While Kathy answers glibly, Willow stares in horror, watching a glutinous drop of ketchup dribble from the edge of the burger and splatter onto the front of her sweater.

"Mhh!" she squeaks, almost imperceptibly.

"It'll wash," Lorna whispers reassuringly. "It's not the end of the world."

* * *

In the sewers beneath the seemingly harmless Espresso Pump coffeehouse, three skittish vampires pour over a map of the town's tunnels and a dirty scrap of parchment. Brain – the only one of the three who isn't a complete blithering idiot – indicates a spot on the tunnel print-out.

"I've checked over and over. That's got to be the place."

The two others grunt and shrug like Klingon chimpanzees.

"The only problem," Brian continues, "is that we don't have the kinds of tools to dig through from this tunnel" –he follows a route with his finger, comparing the current map to the piece of the aged one– "to the site. Without Harmony, we can't–"

"So . . . you're Harmony's prawns, eh?"

From the shadows of the sewer route behind them, Spike ambles towards the three vampires, his stride leonine, a menacing glint in his eyes.

"Who are you?" gasps Brian, staring at the predatory newcomer.

"Spike. You chums work for _me_ now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . we already have a boss. Harmony will – "

"Oh, yes, dear Harmony," Spike chuckles darkly. "Harmony's dead, mate. Or twice-dead, as the case may be."

"W-w-what?" Brian stutters, while the two dimwitted vamps echo his fear with alarmed grunting. "P-p-p-p-prove it."

Unfazed, Spike thrusts a hand into his jeans pocket.

"Recognize this, mate?" he sneers, holding up a thin silver chain with a gaudy, sparkly unicorn pendant dangling from it. "Silly bint dropped it in my car. Now, what was she doin' in there, let me think?" He tilts his head, pretending to read something off the ceiling for a few seconds before looking straight at Brian again. "Oh, right. Gettin' her sodding dust all over my leather seats."

He saunters even closer to the terrified trio of young vampires, who back up a few more steps until they're trapped against the table with their maps. "Squealed for mercy, too, she did. Poor, poor Harmony. I'm even sorrier for you boys, all alone down here in the dark, no one to guide you, no protection from the Slayer . . ."

"The Slayer!" Brian visibly shivers, cowardly to the core. "B-b-but there isn't supposed to be a Slayer in Sunnydale anymore, not since the whole Acathla showdown. Word is, she got killed – or one got killed and the other one vanished, probably dead too."

"Well, you see, mate . . . that's the thing about Slayers," grins Spike. "One snuffs it, another one rises. Luckily for you all, I happen to know a thing or two about Slayers. I know how to kill 'em better than anyone. Wouldn't call me the Big Bad if I didn't, now would they? So, in return for offering you boys my protection, you help me get something I want . . ."

His eyes dart behind the cowering minions to the collection of papers on the dingy table. "Before I ripped her yammering head off, dear Harm just happened to mention a certain gem . . ."

"Yes, yes," Brian nods frantically, hurrying in hopes of appeasing Spike. He shoos the two delinquent vamps off to one side and points from the antique paper fragment to the Sunnydale sewer map. "We've determined the precise location of the Gem of Amarra in the 'valley of the sun', which is Sunnydale." He laughs nervously. "I mean, obviously, right? Sunny-dale. Sun-valley. Valley of the sun."

Spike remains stony-faced and analytical, his keen blue eyes darting between the sets of maps.

"And it's definitely the crypt, right? I'm not keen on tunneling into someone's septic tank?"

"It's the crypt," Brian nods. "The radar soundings are clear. The walls are thinnest here, at the bottom. We've got to tunnel from underneath. More work, but I'm sure–"

Quick as lightning, Spike seizes Brian by the back of his neck and slams his face into the table, pressing his cheek to the city map.

"Better be more than sure, mate. 'Cuz I'd hate to have to hurt you . . ."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry if this one was mostly canon and kinda boring. =( Another Lorna/Spike close encounter soon, promise!_


	9. Chapter 9: Walking in Her Shoes

A/N: Special kudos to user _Jeremy Shane_ for your short and sweet reviews, consistently reminding me to update! I glow each time I get one! =) This chapter contains brief quotes from "Living Conditions" and an altered quote from "Who Are You?".

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Professor Walsh and Riley Finn discuss their plans for investigating Lorna Branson, Sunnydale's new slayer. Meanwhile, Lorna meets Parker Abrams – a seemingly charming older student that she instantly doesn't trust – and Willow's awful roommate, Kathy. And, unknown to either Prof. Walsh or Lorna, Spike frightens Harmony's minions into submission and makes them his worker bees to locate and dig up the Gem of Amarra._

* * *

Chapter 9: Walking In Her Shoes

"Now, we're only stopping by for a few minutes, right?" Willow demands as she, Lorna, and Xander descend the short set of stairs to Giles's apartment door. "Oz's band starts playing at eight, but I know he'd love it if I was there for warm-up, and I want time to get you all prettied-up and party-fied."

"Wish I could make with the par-tay," shrugs Xander, adjusting the collar of his Italian-themed overshirt. "Gotta be delivery guy. It's my sacred destiny."

"I know, Xand."

"This won't take long," Lorna promises Willow, tapping lightly on her Watcher's front door. "I just need to tell Giles about that commando guy I saw the other night. You know, the one who chased me on my way back to the Summers' house."

"How do ya even know the camo-wearing dude was even after _you_?" asks Xander. "I mean . . . it could have just been a kid playing paintball or something?"

"Paintball? Did you not hear the part where he tracked me for five blocks?"

Xander dissolves into artificial throat-clearing, and the word "_paranoid_" is audible somewhere in there. Giles answers the door before either of the girls can call him out on it.

"Lorna, what is it? Has Spike . . .?"

"Nope, nothing Spike-related," she reassures him. "Haven't seen hide nor bleached hair of him since Monday night. But in all the craziness, I forgot to tell you about something else."

They enter the apartment and are soon ensconced on the couches with cups of tea while Lorna fills Giles in on her mysterious tracker.

"I only saw the one, but I'm about ninety percent certain there was at least one other person hiding in the shrubs I passed before The Running Man made his appearance," she concludes as her Watcher scribbles away on a yellow legal pad. "I wish I had more details. I didn't dare stop and try to figure out who or what he was, since I had to get Spike away from the Summers."

"Intriguing," Giles nods, "but . . . without more information I'm afraid we're out of luck. You assume from appearance that this person following you was indeed human?"

"Fairly sure, but he was all outfitted in camo, so I guess that's a loose end too," she sighs, staring into her cup. Though Giles isn't berating her, she can sense his disappointment.

"Well, just 'cuz he's not a demon doesn't for sure mean he isn't still _bad_," points out Willow, suddenly sitting alertly on the edge of the sofa. "For instance, say there was this roommate, let's call her . . . Kathy. Definitely some villainy going on there."

"Willow, your housing arrangement difficulties, albeit challenging, do not pertain to the matter at hand –" Giles starts to say.

"But Giles, she _irons_ her jeans! She's evil!" Willow whimpers sincerely.

"Remember the good ol' days when the bad guys strutted around and sang of their evilness from the rooftops?" says Xander. "Those were the times. Figuring out who the demons are didn't used to be so much work. Dark ensemble plus lousy fashion sense plus absence of tan . . . Ooh, looky, evil galore."

"Must've been before Buffy and I got here, back when they didn't have the fear-of-Slayer in them," Lorna suggests. Unexpectedly, Xander scowls at her.

"See above. Black clothes plus zilch style plus pale. We have a winner."

Lorna's jaw hardens, realizing his meaning. Willow notices the sudden tension and tries to steer the conversation back to her roommate tribulation.

"I did tell you about the floss, right? Kathy the Floss Monster . . ."

"Are we _sure_ she's not a robot? Or a _vampire_?" Xander asks pointedly. "We haven't tried staking her through the heart yet, have we?"

Giles looks up at him in surprise, momentarily imagining him to be referring to Kathy . . . but the direction of the teenager's stern expression proves his real target to be Lorna.

"Xander, don't be absurd," the Englishman quietly scoffs, returning his attention to his notepad.

"Yeah, Xand, when you'd get to be so mean?" Willow pouts. "Lorna's right here. She can hear you."

"Yeah?" says Xander, rounding on Lorna. "What's she gonna do about it, huh?"

As she's struggling not to feel offended, Lorna notices a streak of sadness in Xander's eyes and realizes he's only lashing out at her because he misses Buffy. To him, Lorna embodies Buffy's absence, even if she had nothing to do with the blonde's departure from Sunnydale to who-knows-where.

"I'm going to . . . wash the mugs," she says flatly, gathering the four ceramic cups into the center of the coffee table and sticking her fingers through all the handles. "Giles, where's your dish-soap?"

"What? Oh, um . . . cupboard under the sink."

"M'kay."

She crosses into the kitchen, feeling the eyes of the three others on her back. In the three weeks since her arrival, she's gotten the impression that Willow genuinely likes her, or at enjoys her academically-inclined company, and since Oz adores Willow, he's warmed up to her as well. Giles is harder to read – due to his British stoicism – but at least she's never felt _disliked_ by the glasses-polishing Watcher. He's acted impressed with her fighting proficiency and her in-depth knowledge of the Slayer legacy, having read everything her father could provide from the Council's archives.

But Xander . . . he's a whole different ball game. It's been less than four days since they met, and he's ready to make banners and flyers for the Anti-Lorna League. Even if Buffy's departure wasn't a factor, Lorna guesses her own quietness and lack of amusing wit contribute plenty to Xander's resistance to befriend her. He's predisposed to label her as a stuck-up killjoy with no sense of fun. Maybe he's right.

"What time did you say the Dingoes start warming up?" Lorna asks.

"Six, I think," answers Willow, hopping up from the couch. "Wanna go back to your place and get ready?"

"It's not _her_ place," Xander huffs quietly, remaining seated. "It's Buffy's place."

Lorna imagines that if life was a cartoon, right now she'd have one of those red anger-vein marks floating over her temple. Rinsing the last of the mugs and setting it in the drying rack, she turns around and confronts him.

"Xander, quit, okay? Just quit. I'm tired of your attitude. It's stupid and immature."

"So now I'm stupid and immature, huh?"

"Stop treating me like I'm just a temporary replacement for Buffy," she plows ahead, raising her voice just enough to be heard over him. "Two years ago, Buffy died, if only temporarily. That called Kendra and made her the true Slayer. She died last May, and that called me. Check Giles's books if you want to, but according to them, _I'm_ the Slayer. The real one. I'm not a cheap imitation and I'm not an understudy."

"But you _are_ a substitute."

"It's not my problem that you choose to see me that way."

Her dark eyes hold Xander's gaze for a long moment, his face wavering between cantankerous and defeated, before he loses the staring content, scowling at his own shoes.

"Ready to go, Willow?" Lorna mutters.

The petite redhead scrambles out of the living room and squeaks, "Bye, Giles," as she hauls open the front door.

"Goodnight, Willow, Lorna."

"I promise I'll go on patrol after this stupid party," says Lorna, holding the doorknob and looking over her shoulder at Giles.

"Of course," he nods, already busy drawing a rough sketch of the commando she described.

* * *

"Willow, I don't _really_ look like a vampire . . . do I?"

They're upstairs in 1630 Revello Drive, prepping for the Alpha Delta party. At Mrs. Summers's insistence – and after quickly confirming that Lorna owns no clothes that anyone in the house deems frat-party-worthy – she and Willow are hunting through Buffy's closet for options.

"No!" the redhead replies, too quickly to be a natural response. Lorna raises an eyebrow. "Well, I mean you do have the whole 'all black' thing going, and you're a little lacking in the Vitamin D department . . . but you wear a cross necklace!" She points to the wooden emblem between Lorna's collarbones. "So you couldn't be a vampire!"

"Not exactly earning your keep as my defense attorney," Lorna sighs, glancing over the large pile of clothes Willow has pulled off their hangers and laid across the bed in groups. "Oh, now you're just making fun of me."

"What?!"

"This . . . whatever this is."

She gestures at a prospective outfit: an ivory camisole and dark leather miniskirt.

"What's the stitch? Buffy wore stuff like that to _school_."

"Willow, first of all, Buffy is two years younger than me, so she could get away with wearing something like that. If _I_ wore that, I'd just look like a slut. And second" – she holds the excuse for a skirt up to her hips – "I don't think I could even fit into this, let alone walk across campus to the party."

"Point taken. Forgot about the walking part. Hmm . . ."

Willow sifts through the stack, removing a few more I-wouldn't-be-caught-dead-wearing-that items. Lorna carries the rejects back to the closet and starts unearthing shoeboxes.

"Have to admit . . . you gotta respect a girl who can slay vampires wearing _these_," she comments, showing Willow a pair of white high-heeled sandals. "This is one strappy accident waiting to hap–"

"No! Those are good! We can work with those!"

Excitedly, Willow throws clothes hither and thither until she finally plucks out a white sleeveless blouse, surprisingly tasteful compared to the vast majority of Buffy's wardrobe.

"This! Try it, please please please!"

"Will, you're operating on the premise that these shoes . . . actually fit," Lorna falters mid-sentence as she slips her toes into one of the sandals and is flabbergasted to discover that despite being a good three inches taller than Buffy, her foot fits comfortably into the shoe. "Huh. Who would have thought it."

"This is great! Ooh! I can curl your hair . . . a little blush, a little shimmer . . ."

Forty minutes later – most of which was spent on turning her lank, dark hair into loose ringlets – Lorna stares into the mirror of the upstairs bathroom, astonished.

"Willow . . ."

"Is it too much?" The young witch bites her lip. "I think if I get a washcloth wet I can get the eye makeup off without ruining anything else, maybe."

"No, no, Willow, this is . . . honestly, this is the prettiest I think I've ever looked in my life."

Willow beams so widely that her smile seems to be doing jumping-jacks as she speaks.

"You mean it? Aw! I'm a regular junior cosmologist! That'll show Xander! Er . . . that is, _if_ he were coming he'd see you're not just a creepy old hag at all, and I think I should just stop talking now."

"I get what you meant," Lorna smiles, turning her back on her dolled-up reflection. "Alright, little miss Fairy Godmother. Let's get _you_ ready for the ball."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know. A whole chapter without William the Bloody, what was I thinking? Blah-blah character development blah-blah. Fear not. L-O-A-D-S of Spike in the next chapter. ;)_


	10. Chapter 10: Hunting

A/N: Sorry for the super long update wait. I've been focused on "Five Words or Less", and IRL has been a pain. Hopefully this long, juicy chapter will ease my sense of guilt. ;) Now remember, dear readers, this is un-chipped, un-souled, recently-dumped-by-Drusilla Spike, so he's going to be cranky, evil, and a bit lewd in this chapter.

Uses quotes and references to **Buffy the Vampire Slayer** episodes "Harsh Light of Day", "Shadow", and "The Initiative", as well as Amber Benson's movie _Chance_.

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Willow expounds on Kathy the jeans-ironing, over-flossing roommate, Xander makes it clear how much he dislikes Lorna, and Lorna informs Giles about her camo-wearing stalker before she and Willow head back to the Summers' house to get ready for the Alpha Delta party, where Oz's band is opening. Meanwhile, Spike frightens Harmony's minions into submission and makes them his worker bees to locate and dig up the Gem of Amarra._

* * *

Chapter 10: Hunting

He's not quite sure how he ended up idling on the curb at sundown, his DeSoto parked under the shadow of an elm tree about six houses down from 1630 Revello. Gazing through the windshield and tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to a tune in his head, Spike scouts out the house of his absent enemy. The minivan's in the driveway, so Mumsie must be home, and probably the bite-sized one too, since school's out for the evening. Too bad the prudish, tight-assed new Slayer and her little wicca groupie cancelled his invite. He suspects he could easily get welcomed back in to the fold, charm the mother or daughter into saying those simple words – "_Come in_" – and be king of the Slayer's castle once more.

Strange, he realizes, that drinking from the Summers women isn't his primary goal in earning a re-invite. At the moment, he knows he'd be a perfect gentleman, knock back the hot tea or cocoa that Buffy's mum would set in front of him, listen to her latest art-gallery anecdote, tease the smitten little sister with his suggestive smiles... but not kill them, not even take a sip. Maybe if he hadn't already drained three homeless nobodies in the last twenty-four hours, he'd be more eager for their blood, or perhaps the mindless, sycophantic twaddle from Brian and the mute grunting of the other two minions in his employ is making him desperate for sensible company.

The Summers' front door opens, and Spike tenses in the driver's seat and watches as two females exit, lock the door behind them, and turn away from him, walking briskly toward the UC Sunnydale campus. All he can tell at this distance is that neither one is the mother or sister, and the glow of an overhanging street lamp they pass reveals one to be red-headed and the other brunette.

"Speak of the Slayer," Spike whispers, leering as he turns off the ignition and pushes open the car door. Stuffing his keys in a duster pocket, he turns up his collar and tails the girls, reining in his swagger so he doesn't gain on them. Wherever they're going, they're dressed to impress, especially the raven-haired piece of work – curve-hugging jeans, a white chiffon blouse that just barely shows him the cream-colored small of her back as she walks, hair molded into tight ringlets that remind him of Dru. He's downwind of the girls, drawing in the scents that wash off of them. Again, he narrows his senses on the Slayer, the slightly burned smell of her curls, a tint of isopropyl-alcohol from whatever fruity girly perfume she spritzed herself with, and underneath... the musk of her milky skin, the singing of her blood. It's stronger than a Siren's call to him, bitter and aggravating, yet, also arousing, and he has to pause and adjust himself, a bit peeved by his body's instinctive masculine response to a woman he vehemently despises.

They reach the campus, Spike still skulking fifty feet or so behind them, and head for a fraternity house that's already bursting its seams with raucous music, lights, and Solo-cup-bearing college students. He waits until the two girls slip inside, then slinks into the shadows of some tall nearby bushes, plotting. If he goes straight in, the Slayer will catch his scent and be onto him in moments, and he'll miss a chance to watch her squirm in an atmosphere he's sure is as comfortable to her as a Easter Sunday church service would be for him. But how to mask his presence...

"Hey, dude, why'd you shtop out here?" inquires a slurred voice at his shoulder. Unconcerned, Spike glances at the inebriated youth, who's impressively lacking in inhibitions though it's only a quarter to eight. Sober humans would never come so close to a vampire without an innate internal warning system waiving a red flag.

"Your frat?" asks Spike, a sudden strategy occurring to him as he realizes the student is about his height, only a tad scrawnier.

"Nah, jusht come fur the drinksh and preetty girlsh."

"Had rather the same idea," the vampire grins, putting an arm around the boy. If he's not a member of the hosting fraternity, then it's all the more likely that he'll go unmissed if something sinister were to happen...

"Local band ish 'bout to shtart," the drunk informs him, mistaking his gesture as one of friendship. "I heard they're sho rad. Hey... hey, man, what givesh?" he squeaks as Spike yanks him farther into the copse of bushes and roughly holds him by the neck.

"Sorry, can't stay," he smirks into his victim's ear. "Got to go see a girl."

Then he lets his demon surface – fangs elongating, eyes flashing gold, facial bones sliding into their distended ridges – and closes his jaw over the boy's throat, gulping quickly to keep the blood from spilling over the student's clothes. It tastes tangy with spirits, but otherwise dull compared to his true prize of the night, the blood he seeks.

When the drunk goes limp in his hands, Spike tugs the kid's ice blue t-shirt over his shoulders and drops him unceremoniously onto the dirt, then strips off his own duster and gray shirt, sweat-strained from his tunneling labors. He yanks the stolen shirt down over his torso, chuckling at the insignia now emblazoned tightly across his chest: "U.S.A. Streaking Team" and the cartoon outlines of two nude runners. Tucking his own clothes beneath one of the shrubs, Spike stands, gives a mock bow to the shirtless, unconscious drunk, and steps out of the foliage, mussing his hair with a negligent hand. He draws in a deep breath, noting how the borrowed smells of alcohol and body odor blend with his own natural – or technically unnatural, vampire – cologne. It won't be strong enough at close range, but with luck it'll throw the Slayer off her mark for a while, as long as he sticks to the outer edges of the party, watches her from afar. Grinning deviously, Spike struts down the aggregate driveway and into the Alpha Delta house.

* * *

"I didn't know there'd be so many people," Lorna mumbles, following Willow through the shimmying crowd. The house is packed well beyond what the fire-safety limits probably recommend, and the main lights are off, lit instead with green, pink, and blue spotlights that rotate around, leaving most of the common area in near-darkness. The music is currently supplied by a boom-box sound system, but instruments bedeck a makeshift stage as evidence of live performances to come.

"What?" Willow calls out, unable to hear her even from two feet away. "Oh, look, there's Oz!"

The short guitarist maneuvers over to them and kisses Willow. "Glad you made it."

"I told you we would! Sorry we missed your warm-up."

"No big. We're opening for Bif Naked in about three minutes."

" 'Bif Naked'?" Lorna repeats. "What kind of a band name is that?"

"Speaking as a member of 'Dingoes Ate My Baby'... no idea," Oz shrugs. "You girls want drinks?"

"Got anything that won't fry a breathalyzer? I've got demon-hunting after this and don't want to be staggering all over the cemetery."

"Sure." He points to a corner of them room where a bar has been set up. "That's Devon's roommate. Just tell him you want virgin Sprite."

"Got it."

Breaking away from the petite couple, Lorna struggles through the packed room, jostled on every side, repeatedly tugging at the hem of her shirt whenever her own movement or the accidently nudging of strangers makes it ride up and bare her lower stomach.

"Slaying beats partying any day," she huffs to herself, finally managing to get to the bar and repeat Oz's instructions. The stand-in barista passes her an unopened 8oz Sprite can from a cooler packed with ice. Holding the cold aluminum in her hands, Lorna looks back across the route she just traversed, but Willow and Oz are completely blocked off by club-dancing partiers. Lonely and claustrophobic, she takes a few steps away from the bar and finds an empty hard-backed chair against a wall.

An unidentifiable hunch has the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up like porcupine bristles. For the moment Lorna surmises her own wardrobe is partly to blame, the heeled sandals lousy for fighting or sudden getaways, the blouse dipping to show more of her cleavage than she's comfortable with. The atmosphere in the building is frenzied, the air chokingly thick with beer and sweat. Her Slayer intuition is locked on panic mode, and she reaches down and checks that her stake is still strapped to her left calf, concealed by her jeans.

"Hey. Lorna, right?"

Lorna stands up quickly and is almost shoved flat against the student addressing her, compressed by the tightness of the crowd.

"Yeah," she nods, unable to remember the brown-haired pretty-boy's name. "And you're...?"

"Parker Abrams," he supplies, smiling. "Guess I didn't make as good an impression as I thought."

"Sorry, had a lot of other things to remember this week. Professors, classrooms, date of birth..." She looks over his shoulder, certain that there's something more sinister in the room to make her spine prickle the way it is.

"Did you come alone?" asks Parker. "I could introduce you to some other people, guys in my house."

"I'm fine. I know a guy in the opening band." _Go away, I'm trying to focus_...

"Oh, yeah, the 'Dingoes'," Parker nods as the musicians in question take the stage and some of the compacted bodies in the room shift away from the bar area. "I've never heard them live before. You want a drink?"

"Got one," Lorna mumbles, holding up her still unopened Sprite can. _I'm onto your scheme, mister. Get the freshman girl drunk so she'll be easy_.

Parker's face falls with predictable disappointment, but it's back to its artificially genuine smile in an instant. _Dang, girl's playing hard to get_...

"How about some food, then?" he insists, taking her by the arm and steering her toward a table laid out with snacks. His grip on her elbow is just tight enough to ratchet up Lorna's level of discomfort.

_Why are you scared, dummy?_ she reprimands herself. _You're the Slayer, for Pete's sake. Just keep your head on and if he tries anything you can boot him across the room. And then someone will see... and probably call the police... and then you'll have to run like you did in Cleveland, go off the grid until the Watcher's Council decides your next slice of life... So nix that whole plan. You can't do anything to draw attention. Better to just keep him talking, hope he gets bored and leaves..._

So, what're you studying?" he asks as she puts a few apple slices and a handful of Chex-mix on a paper plate.

"I'm, uh, undeclared liberal arts right now. Just taking general stuff."

"That's neat. I was Pre-med for a while but I hated it, so I switched to History."

"Mmhmm. Fascinating dates and compelling places," she mutters, still trying to pinpoint the origin of the overwhelming sense of danger she feels. The longer she's trapped with Parker, the more it seems to be stemming from him – a completely human source of peril, a girl feeling threatened by a pushy man.

* * *

_Like the moon in the night sky_, is the phrase that flits through Spike's head as he stares at Lorna for a fraction of a second longer than a disinterested person would, before taking another few steps to his left, circling the opposite perimeter of the crowded frat house. That pale face with those huge dark eyes and long black lashes, framed by ebony ringlets... he can't help but compare the Slayer to Drusilla again, and the uncanny resemblance is like a lash across his jilted heart. She glances his way a few times, but there's too much haze from the band's smoke machine and the flailing limbs of dancing co-eds for him to be recognizable at this distance. The multicolored stage lights help his cause further, disguising the intensity of his unnatural hair color and the unique brightness of his eyes.

Try as he might to remain indifferent and observatory, Spike catches a glimpse of panic in the girl's expression and realizes the tall frat boy standing with her is makin' a pass at her, his advances clearly undesired. Reactively, Spike glowers at the boy's back, then balks at himself. _It's not Dru, you blithering prat, it's the bleedin' Slayer. Stick to the goal, watch 'er, corner 'er, drain 'er dry, dump 'er. Maybe shag 'er sometime between the cornerin' and the drainin'._

His confidence bolstered by this sinister plan of action, Spike reduces the distance between himself and Lorna, shortening the arc of his predatory orbit so that he can hone in on the conversation between the Slayer and the playboy hulking over her.

* * *

"So, you have any hobbies?" asks Parker, ignoring her taciturn mood.

"Hobbies?"

As 'Dingoes Ate My Baby' nears the end of their third and final number, Lorna squints into the crowd and thinks she spies Willow on the far opposite side of the floor in front of the stage, closest to Oz. _Do I have hobbies? How 'bout killing demons and staking vampires? Those count?_

"Yeah, hobbies, interests. I feel like there's so much I still don't know about you."

"Well," she stalls, unable to get slaying off the brain and wondering how long until she can manage to slip over to Willow and politely excuse herself from the rest of this living nightmare, "mostly I... you know, hang out and do... stuff."

"Yeah, I was into that for a while," grins Parker, nearly shouting over the band's climaxing riff.

The Dingoes bow to raucous applause and then help shift instruments and equipment on the stage for the headlining band. She's lost sight of Willow again, but for one wild second she caught sight of another face she thought she recognized, a blond young man, maybe a classmate?

"You know, uh, don't take this the wrong way, but you don't seem like a freshman," Parker shrugs, guiding Lorna a few steps away from the refreshments table as a number of the band groupies charge in their direction. To Lorna's dismay, his pushing motion ushers her further from where she last spotted Willow. "You're... I dunno, more mature. Street smarts."

"I just took a year off after graduation, worked for a family business." _Fighting vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness_...

All prospects of continuing a light conversation evaporate as the heavily tattooed lead singer of 'Biff Naked' seizes the microphone and starts belting out a heavy rock song.

"Some party, huh? Last days of Rome."

"Sans Romans," she yells to Parker over the pounding tune. _Great. Oz's gig is done, so I can leave now, right? Get with the slayage..._

"Do you want to dance?" Parker asks, already reaching for her hand.

"No," she snaps back immediately. "Let's... have a meaningful talk instead."

"You don't seem that interested in talking. I thought maybe..." he takes another step closer, "you wanted to get friendlier."

_How dumb do you have to be to misinterpret annoyed and wary as 'give me some'?_

"No, I... I think I'm about to leave anyway."

"No, stay. Party's barely started. You're nervous, I get that. I was kinda overwhelmed at my first college party too. Let me get Conrad to mix you a drink, loosen you up. You'll have more fun."

"I'm fine. I'm good. No drinks." Her brusque sentences make no impression on Parker Abrams, who secures his hand around her elbow again, leading her back toward the jury-rigged bar. Every cell in Lorna's muscles tightens at his unwelcomed touch, resisting the urge to deck him and run. _Can't draw attention... can't blow your cover... can't fail Giles like you failed Dad..._

"Come on," he grins. "A few drinks, and then maybe I can get a dance with the prettiest girl at the party."

"Cool. I'll just stand here and watch while you do that," she says, fleetingly wishing Xander was here to overhear her single droll remark of the night... and possibly to help get Parker off her back. Right now, she'd accept a rescue from anyone...

Anyone _except_ the pale, blond man who suddenly steps in their path.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	11. Chapter 11: Just a Dance

A/N: Sorry updates are few and far between. "Five Words or Less" has a lot bigger reader following, so I prioritize that fic. Maybe if you all left more reviews... (wink)

This chapter switches POV rapidly between Spike and Lorna. I'll try to keep it clear. Remember, this is un-chipped, un-souled, recently-dumped-by-Drusilla Spike, so he's cranky, evil, and a bit lewd in this chapter.

Quotes and references from **BtVS **episodes "Harsh Light of Day", "Wrecked", and "Intervention" as well as Amber Benson's movie _Chance_. Song lyrics from "Lucky" by Biff Naked, the song Buffy and Parker dance to in "Harsh Light".

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Willow and Lorna leave for the Alpha Delta party, unaware that Spike is lurking outside, following them. He disguises himself in a drunk boy's shirt, sneaks in, and grows increasingly jealous as Parker talks to Lorna._

* * *

Chapter 11: Just a Dance

Seemingly paralyzed, Lorna stares from Parker Abrams's perplexed face to the back of the blond head of the man who's cut between them. _Oh no... no way... not Spike..._

"Let the girl go if you know what's good for you, chum," his voice whispers darkly, barely audible amid the raucous tune from Bif Naked on stage.

"This English guy your ex or something?" Parker inquires of Lorna.

The blond head turns, blue eyes flick to her dark ones, and any lingering doubt in her head that this pale, British interloper isn't one of the most deadly vampires in history dissipates instantly. Though it feels much longer, they only hold each other's gaze for the slightest instant before she looks up at Parker.

"N-no, I... I've never met him before." _A vampire I can deal with, much better than this aggressive flirt. Maybe... maybe he doesn't recognize me. After all, he's never seen my face..._

_Maybe she doesn't recognize me in this get-up. Come to think of it, that alley was plenty dark..._

"You with the host frat?" Parker demands, sizing up Spike with his eyes. The blond is shorter and leaner, but there's power in those muscular biceps under his t-shirt sleeves. "I didn't think Alpha Delt had grad student members."

"Don't see that's any business of yours, mate," leers Spike, slipping his arm protectively around Lorna's waist, his fingertips tingling as they brush her skin. "Doesn't much matter who I am. The lady told you to sod off."

Lorna holds her breath, relieved that she'll finally be free from Parker's oppressive presence... but no less on the verge of running. In fact, the urge is stronger now, with a cool forearm around her back, Slayer nerves firing panic-signals.

Parker looks wracked with confusion, and finally he just makes a disgruntled snort under his breath. "Fine. Whatever. Wasn't interested anyway." Turning his back on them, he walks away into the crowd.

_Phew... NOT phew! Now I'm trapped here with SPIKE, who is probably trying to kill me and drink my blood even if he _hasn't_ figure out I'm the Slayer!_

Lorna quickly turns in a half circle, dislodging the arm from around her. "I, um... thank you," she mumbles, not making eye-contact even though she knows she should... for battle purposes only, of course.

"No trouble, luv. Sods like him always deserve gettin' knocked down a peg or two."_ Thanks from a Slayer. Of all the things I didn't expect to get tonight..._

"Um... What's your name?" she asks before her brain filters out the question. _Wait... no, that was okay. Wasn't something a girl would normally ask a guy at a party? Wait again... why are we still pretending? Shouldn't I run? Shouldn't I stake him? No... can't draw attention... oh, why did I come to this stupid party?!_

"William," he replies, not hesitating for even a nanosecond, and Lorna lifts her eyes and searches his briefly, curiosity pricked by his sincerity. A smile touches his lips, and she ducks her face again.

"So, are... are you on the..." she narrows her eyes at his shirt, "the Streaking Team?"

"A walk-on," Spike smirks. "Team members have a funny tendency to get arrested. Public indecency and whatnot."

"Oh."

On the stage, the music changes to a mellower three-count, and the lead singer of Bif Naked beckons couples to the dance floor. Lorna glances around, holding Willow or Oz will look her way and help her out of this very bizarre predicament.

"Like to dance w'me?"

The question surprises her so much that Lorna feels her neck pop slightly as she whips her head back to stare at him.

"Wh– dance? With _me_?"

"Sure," Spike shrugs. _What the _HELL_ am I doin'? I've gone completely off my rocker!_

Lorna tucks her chin slightly, feeling his gaze on her throat. "I... I can't dance, not _party_ type dancing, at least. Just... ballet. Lame, I know."

He smiles, watching her dark curled hair trail over her collarbones as she shakes her head. "Been a while myself. I'll teach you."

Radically confused by her own acceptance, Lorna allows Spike to take hold of her right hand. He leads her to the dance floor and starts to turn her around.

"No," Lorna quickly whispers. "Face to face." _Why did that sound so dirty?... oh... that's why. I just want to keep an eye on him... but frankly if he's going to bite me he'll do it whether I'm facing him or not_.

Spike grins, long lashes brushing closed for a moment, almost hypnotically. "However you want, luv. Just tell me what feels comfortable. For starters..."

He eases his right arm back around her waist, pulling her forward until there seems to be only an inch between their bodies.

"This alright?"

Lorna hesitantly nods, trying to figure out where to put her face so she's not literally cheek-to-cheek with him, but also without exposing any more neck than absolutely necessary. _Why on earth am I not just getting the heck out of Dodge while I still have all my A-negative?_

The raven-haired singer starts to croon the first verse, like a dark lullaby, over the slow-dancing crowd.

_/ It was a Monday when my lover told me_

_Never pay the Reaper with love only_

_What could I say to you except I love you_

_And I'd give my life for yours_

_I know... we are... we are the lucky ones_

_I know... we are... we are the lucky ones /_

Lorna realizes as the chorus fades out that wearing Buffy's sandals makes her basically equal in height to the formidable vampire, and a tiny sound – part nervous giggle, part smug chuckle – escapes her mouth. Still rocking together, Spike slowly twirls her into a sweetheart hold, her back to his chest, their hands clasped together around her waist. He nuzzles her neck, kisses, even nibbles gently with human teeth, the hot rush of her blood taunting him. Lorna's shoulders tense up, her lids growing heavy at his tender ministrations.

_I should be more afraid... why aren't I more afraid? He's practically having a sample... Maybe he's put me in thrall. Can't vampires do that?_

"Do you always give hickeys to strange girls at parties, William?" she says, a little breathlessly.

"Always, pet," he whispers against the back of her throat. _My God, what insane luck... she really must not know who I am_...

_/ Remember the time we made love in the roses_

_And you took my picture in all sorts of poses_

_How could I... ever... get over you_

_And I'd give my life for yours_

_I know... we are... we are the lucky ones_

_I know... we are... we are the lucky ones /_

"You're so beautiful," Spike groans into Lorna's hair, his mind wrestling between his fantasies of Dru and the undeniable scent of Slayer.

She draws in a shaky breath, wishing she didn't feel so flattered at how much she was affecting him._ I'm crazy. All the booze in the air must be affecting me... but gosh, he smells so good..._

Then her stomach seems to turn inside-out.

In the open doorway to the Alpha Delta house, his gray-green eyes combing the crowd – a perfect imitation of his hawk-like instructor – stands Riley Finn.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_A/N: Sorry this one's kinda short, but it's all exciting-ish, so hopefully that makes up for it._


	12. Chapter 12: Hand at the Throat

A/N: Realized that because this is a strange Season 3/4 mash-up, Anya/Anyanka hasn't shown up at all. I'll fix that in a few chapters, but for now let's pretend Willow and Xander never had a thing. As always, abundant thanks for your reviews and incredible thanks if you are one of the readers who voted for me in the recent SunnyD awards! I got Runner Up Best New Author!

Remember, this is un-chipped, un-souled, recently-dumped-by-Drusilla Spike, so he's cranky, evil, and very lewd in this chapter. Smut/attempted-rape warning.

Quotes and references from **BtVS **episodes "Harsh Light of Day" and "Wrecked"

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Spike cuts in on Parker Abrams and scares him away from Lorna. Both of them pretending not to recognize the other, they eventually end up dancing together. Out of the blue, Riley shows up at the frat party._

* * *

Chapter 12: Hand at the Throat

Lorna swallows uneasily, wishing she hadn't worn Buffy's heels and thus added to her already medium height, making her more easily detectable by the stern graduate student on the opposite side of the dance floor.

Spike looks up from her neck, sensing the sudden fear coursing through her. Intrigued, he follows her gaze to the young man in the doorway, now flanked by two similarly brawny upperclassmen.

"Another wanker after you, sweets?" he whispers into the back of her ear, curiosity pricked. _Girl sure knows how to draw in the nasty ones... but there's innocence for you. Guess that makes me one of the nasties..._

"Um... yeah, class-related," Lorna flounders. _This is crazy. I'm dancing with one of the world's most notorious vampires, but I have a panic attack at the sight of the shifty T.A_. "Um, listen, could we –?"

"Say no more, luv."

He maneuvers them backwards through the dancing crowd, and once twenty or thirty more people are between them and Riley, he grips her hand firmly and pulls her in the direction of the back door. They slip outside into balmy late-August night air, breathing heavily.

"Thanks," Lorna whispers. "I should g–"

Eyes glazed over with lusty, half-mad need, Spike spins around and shoves her up against the brick exterior beside the door, pinning her shoulders in his long lean hands. She opens her mouth to scream as his lips descend, mashing against hers.

_Oh God... the taste of her... no wonder Angelus couldn't keep his hands off that feisty blonde... no wonder I came back for another go-round... oh God, it's like wine..._

She whimpers in terror against his mouth, afraid to shift her legs to get her stake within reach. _If I move my thigh, he'll feel it... think it's a signal for... oh my god, what's happening to me_...

_Has the sweet little thing ever been kissed before?_ Spike suddenly wonders, languidly plundering her hot mouth with his tongue, earning a mewling noise that sends all his blood to his groin. He runs one hand down from her shoulder to her breast, and she gives a frightened cry that chills his spine.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispers, as sweetly as a lover.

_Wham!_

Lorna hooks her fist across his cheek, and bends over with the follow-through, yanking her stake free of the strap around her left calf.

"Spike!"

"Well, well. When'd you figure out it was me, eh, _Lorna_? Thought you'd have a bit of the rough n' tumble first?"

"You –!"

Distracted by indignant anger, she swings underhand with the stake, but he catches hold of her wrist and continues the swing of her arm until it's stretched above her head. He wrenches her other arm behind her back, leans in with a guttural growl, and keeps her tight against the wall, pinning her stake hand into the brick with his firm cool fingers. Her scent is a heady concoction of fear, adrenaline, and pure Slayer.

"You see, I've been thinkin', luv..." he murmurs, tone teasing, his entire body flush with hers. "You could've walked away from that Parker pillock anytime you pleased... but somethin' stopped you... I'd say you even seemed _scared_... thinkin' you might draw attention to yourself... which is why you haven't screamed yet, isn't it?" he grins.

She tries to shift laterally, but Spike shoves so tightly she can't budge an inch. His blue eyes stare into her, pupils expanded in the darkness. Lorna's lungs pump rapidly – the only part of her that's able to move – and she wishes for probably the hundredth time that she hadn't worn such an exposing blouse. _Stupid Buffy and her skanky partying outfits!_

"_Isn't it?_" Spike repeats aggressively, his tongue just brushing her lips. Lorna wants nothing more than to meld with the wall, become brick and mortar instead of shaking human flesh.

"I c-can still k-kill you!" she hisses back, and Spike's playful sneer widens.

"What, with _this_, luv?"

Smirking, he tickles the inside of her wrist with his forefinger so that her fingers loosen with a spasm and a gasp. The stake clatters uselessly on the pavement beside their feet.

"Why don't you cry out, pet?" he breathes, showing a bit more teeth in his smile. He's still pushing his hips flat against her, trying to get one knee between her legs to press her thighs apart. "Have you any idea how easily I could rip out your throat, pretty little Slayer? All that silky white skin... it'd be like paper..."

The steel inside his jeans pushes rigidly against her stomach as he bends his head and presses his lips to her pulse point, skimming the tip of his nose over her jugular.

She doesn't answer. Even if a cry for help could be heard over the noises of the renewed raucousness inside the fraternity house, Lorna won't raise her voice, particularly now that Riley's here... teaching assistant Riley Finn with his pointed glares, like he recognizes her from somewhere before Sunnydale. She's tormented by the fear that somehow he and Professor Walsh – who also fixes her with those strange calculating looks, day after day – must know the truth about her, about Cleveland... the dozens of dead, her parents among the broken bodies, the city block that imploded around the collapsing Hellmouth.

Spike drives himself hard against her, jarring her out of her shock-induced ponderings. He's never been one to play with his food... but Slayers are different. Slayers deserve a longer dance, and this one's well worth the build-up – with her dark penetrating eyes and the unlucky choice of wearing her hair in a way that resembles his unfaithful but eternally lovely goddess, Drusilla.

"An' then lo and behold the All-American squad arrives, sends you into a right bloody panic," he continues, both sultry and vicious. "So very afraid... It's intoxicatin', little Lorna. The scent of your fear, sound of your heart flutterin' fit to fly right out of your pretty chest..."

His eyes flick down, callously studying her cleavage, and he licks his human teeth.

"An' I couldn't imagine what could make a Slayer's heart race so very much... but then I thought of somethin' that might, somethin' special..."

"Get off me!" she spits in a stage whisper, finally finding her voice.

Discontent with their seeming gridlock, he tilts his head to her throat again and licks along her jawline, and her whole body seems to soften with a frightened whimper. He angles his knee with a quick jerk, and then suddenly there's nothing but two layers of denim between heat and hardness. Spike gasps through clenched teeth, violently aroused, and her shuddering tremble only makes it worse.

"Thought I could smell a little somethin' else," he leers, his own breath coming in heady pants. "Make you hot, don't I, Slayer?"

"Get off me you sick bastard!"

"Want a taste of my darkness, baby? I'll make you scream for it..."

Finally working her other hand free from behind her back, she jabs her fist into his cheek, but he barely recoils – just releasing another tiger-like snarl – before he locks forearms with her, encases her wrist in his icy touch, and pulls this hand up as well. One long-fingered hand acting as a shackle for both her wrists, he lets the other hand trail down to intertwine with her dark curls.

"Get the hell off me!"

"I'll bet... the only thing better than killin' a Slayer... is bein' inside... bet you're all warm and tight and strong, aren't you, baby?"

His hand slips lower, lingering over her collarbone before giving her breast a firm squeeze. Desperate, Lorna head-butts him, but aside from a ringing _crack_ as their foreheads clash, her last remaining fighting move proves useless.

"That's right, my dark Slayer," grins Spike, wincing slightly at the blow to his head, but his smirk is – if anything – more lustful. "Fight me, fight back... oh sweet God, I want you..."

Very slowly, he tenses against her, back and forth, hips like a piston, unable to squelch the tiny high-pitched groan that ekes from his own lips at the thought of her warmth, so near and so tempting.

"S-s-stop," she stutters, his motions sending simultaneous waves of fear and heat up and down her body. "Stop, please..."

"Make me," he moans, running his talented tongue up and down the length of her throat. His free hand leaves her completely and starts working at the clasp of his belt. Lorna hyperventilates, his pressure on her midsection grinding her backside into the wall.

_He's going to take me, right here against the wall... and then he's going to kill me..._

"Stop... Spike, no... stop... please, Spike..."

It's hearing his name that makes the cogs in his head slip a gear, forcing him to think for a split-second. Brutal bloodthirsty vampire or not, he's still a poet and a lover at his core. If you opened up a dictionary and looked up the word 'loyal', his portrait accompanies the definition. He's had only one woman for a hundred years, knows every trick in the book, how to make her want him when she doesn't seem interested, how to rile her up in all the most delicious ways... but he's never forced himself on her, even in play.

There were Angelus's games, of course, in the earliest days, the secret dirty things Spike had let himself be provoked into doing out of eagerness to please his creative grandsire... but he'd certainly not _enjoyed_ those acts of sheer cruelty the way the older vampire had. He'd always privately thought himself _better_ than Angelus, less distracted by the need to have unnecessarily cruel fun with every hunt instead of being content with a good clean kill.

So... if he does what he's been planning to do all night, egging himself on to do... _shag the Slayer, shag her 'til she's beggin' my name or beggin' for death, get myself off, and then drain her at her peak, when the blood flows sweetest_... then he's just a monster, just Angelus's faithfully trained fledgling.

_God, the Bloody Poof still has his hand 'round my throat, even from whatever dark circle of Hell he's stuck in._

All this courses through Spike's head in the time it takes Lorna to blink, her shock fluctuating as she feels his hand pause between them, halfway through working his belt out of its buckle. She watches the craze slowly die in his eyes, his chest shuddering with unneeded breaths.

Lashes fluttering closed, Spike presses his lips over hers once more, and then the pressure of his whole body leaves hers at once, and Lorna slumps against the wall, gasping.

* * *

_A/N: Danger is nowhere near over! Just thought the chapter was getting longer than usual. :) To be continued! Yes, yes, I'm a terrible cliffhanger-y person. ;)_


	13. Chapter 13: Two Against Four

A/N: Thank you _antsnpants_, _Jeremy Shane_, _lunabloodmoon666, VioletNicole, With a freaking y_, and the anonymous reviewer! I thrive on your feedback, lovely readers. (:

Quotes and references from **BtVS **episodes "Shadow", "Intervention", and "Wrecked". Starts immediately after the last chapter, so read the last few paragraphs if you need a refresher.

**_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: The Alpha Delta party has proved to be a nightmare for newly chosen Slayer, Lorna. She gets hit on by pushy upperclassman Parker Abrams, accepts a dance with Spike, and then flees with him from Riley Finn. Once outside the frat house, Spike nearly forces himself on Lorna, but stops when he realizes he doesn't want to act in a way that would make Angelus proud, so he releases her._

* * *

Chapter 13: Two Against Four

Spike backs up a few paces from the wall, hands innocently held at shoulder level. Strength and courage returning, Lorna snatches up her stake and holds it in front of her, aimed at Spike.

"Here, now, is that any way to treat a nice bloke who stopped when you said 'no', Slayer?"

"You... sick... monster," she pants, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

"Well, yeah, got me there," he grins. "Sunnyhell High librarian's your Watcher now, right? Must be shirkin' his duties, leavin' out the important bits. Didn't he ever tell you vampires are monsters? Have our own monster movies an' all?"

More cautious this time, she thrusts out with the stake, but he steps aside, still smirking.

"Want to keep dancin', is that it, sweets? Happy to oblige..."

"No," she retorts, increasingly irritated, "I want you to stand still so I can stab you in the heart with this sharp piece of wood."

He laughs. "Girl's got some pluck to her after all. 'Fraid it doesn't work like that, little Slayer. I didn't stake _you_ –" he thumbs the fabric below his belt buckle, sneering licentiously "– though I bloody-well had the chance."

"You're vulgar, Spike."

"S'pose so, but that doesn't change the fact that you enjoyed it just a tad more than you're admittin'." He takes a deep breath through flaring nostrils. "Mmmm. Slayer musk. Bitter and aggravatin'."

Then – before the embarrassment can even show up on her face – the glee drops out of his expression, and he sniffs more thoughtfully.

"Someone's come to join the party," he calls over his shoulder, still keeping one eye trained on Lorna's stake. "Little late, boys. Think the punch already ran out."

An electric crackle splits the air between them. Spike dodges, Lorna ducks with a gasp, and the taser's barbs lodge into the brick wall, spitting electrical shocks like a hacking dragon.

"Aim like soddin' Imperial Stormtroopers, this lot," Spike chuckles. "Come out an' play, children! You've thrown the gauntlet, time to back it up, prove who's really got the stones 'round here."

From the bushes abutting the fraternity house, four figures in camouflaged combat gear prowl around the building's edge. Their faces are completely concealed behind goggles and black ski masks. Lorna pales, recognizing their outfits as matching the men who'd hidden along her path and chased her the night Spike had showed up at the Summers' house.

"Pals of yours, Slayer?"

"No. You?"

"Do I look like the type these army stiffs would chum with?"

"Not really." _Maybe they're here to arrest _him_, not me... maybe the other night they were just trying to help me._

"By the power of the United States military," says the one with the broadest shoulders, stun blaster pointing first at Spike, then at Lorna, "you are ordered to stand down."

"Am standin', you nit," jeers Spike, momentarily thankful that he isn't burdened down by the weight of his leather coat. Even if these soldier boys are trained to perfection and drugged up with steroids to boot, he's still more nimble, his dexterity heightened by vampire speed.

Lorna just stares at the leading trooper, her muscles coiling to evade another taser shot if needed. His voice is slightly garbled by some sort of mouthpiece, but seems curiously familiar.

"What do you want?" she demands, fist still clenched tightly around her long, thin, dagger-blade-style stake. _Better the enemy you know..._

"Stand down or we will engage."

"Think he means put down the stake, luv," Spike smirks, shooting her wooden weapon a quick sarcastic glance. "How _did_ you expect to kill me with that? Such a teeny skinny thing, bit like you. Didn't Ol' Watcher-boy ever tell you that _size matters_?"

"Shut up."

"Hostiles are not yielding, sir," grumbles another of the soldiers, ray gun cocked into his shoulder.

"Easy, Agent Gates," the commander orders gruffly. "This is your last warning..."

"Who, Gates or us?" retorts Spike, rolling his tongue as he sneers cheekily. "Don't you wankers have code names or somethin'? Throw us off the scent? Like 'Optimus Prime', or 'Nightwing'?"

_A vampire spouting pop culture references?_ Lorna wonders briefly. _Xander would probably get along better with _him_ than with _me_!_

A trigger-finger twitches, and another blast of electricity careens toward them. Spike gives an alarmed snarl as the sparking wires barely skim his leg.

"Sod it!"

"Told you to wait for my signal!"

"Look out!" cries Lorna involuntarily as the high-strung commando who'd fired at them ignores his leader's order and bears toward Spike, hefting his recharging gun like a club.

Growling and morphing into yellow-eyed killer, Spike crouches wolverine-like and side-steps the first swing of the gun. He jabs the soldier first in the solar plexus and then directly into the goggles, and the man recoils, swearing and reeling backwards. Yelling voices and grunts of battle overlay, the four camo-clad soldiers charging at Lorna and Spike. She drops her stake as the leader reaches her, crosses her arms in front of her, grips two handfuls of his shirt, and judo-throws him over her shoulder.

"Nice one, Slayer!" laughs Spike, the fleshy _crunch_ of the commando's body against the brick building distinctly audible. He fends off his own two attackers with a century of skill, not bothering to pull his punches. Bones crack under his fists – femurs and ribs and noses beneath the black woolen masks.

"They're human! You can't kill them!" Lorna shouts urgently, her second opponent howling in pain as she drivers the pointed heel of her shoe into his calf, effectively hamstringing him.

"_You_ can't! I bloody-well live for it!"

He spin-kicks the soldier who'd shot at him, knocking the much larger man to the aggregate pathway snaking around the side of the building.

"Not so tough now, eh?" he sniggers, eyeing the two unconscious figures at his feet and the third crumpled against the wall. The last one lies on the ground between them, tiny moans issuing from his masked mouth. "Reckon we should ID these pillocks? Find out why they're so keen on takin' us before their tribunal or some such?"

Lorna gazes down, watching the tense shoulder blades of the conscious soldier trembling, his screened face against the sidewalk.

"No," she answers Spike. "I don't care."

He gawks, transforming back into blue eyes and crease-less features. "One of 'em clock you in the head when I wasn't lookin', Slayer? These tossers were here to kill you or truss you up like a rodeo calf and hurt your girly bits, do a lot worse than what I..."

His voice drops away. _Well, maybe technically it would have been the same thing I intended... but I would've made it good for her, got her glowin', made her skin sing... Cor! What am I thinkin'?! Can't be gettin' sentimental over her!_

"I don't care who they are, just that they leave me alone from now on," Lorna says, raising her voice hostilely during the second part of her statement. By the jerky motions of the only remaining-awake soldier's head, she's sure he gets her message. "And you're not going to hurt them."

"Come off it!" Spike protests, almost whining. "I'm hungry! Helpless little snacks. Few pints each wouldn't _really_ hurt these burly sods."

"No. Just turn around and walk away. Oh, hey, while you're at it, leave Sunnydale."

"Not goin' till I get my hands on the Gem of–"

He clamps his teeth shut. _Hell! Watcher'll comb his books cover-to-cover if he knows what I'm after, pro'ly dig up the soddin' thing before I get a'hold of it._

"Gem? What gem?" she demands, eyes narrowing.

"Nothin'," Spike retorts lamely, mind racing for any conversation point that could distract her... and landing on a gold mine. "'Sides," he smiles wantonly, "reckon you'll be wantin' me to scratch that tight-assed itch of yours any minute now."

"Excuse me?!" gasps Lorna, instantly reaching for her stake again.

Pleased to see the prudish outrage back on her face, Spike prowls, orbiting her from eight feet away. "I'm in your system now, Slayer. You're going to crave me like I crave blood. And next time, if you don't stop being a bitch, maybe I'll bite you." _Should've just sunk my fangs in her earlier, not dandy'ed about, makin' her squirm and gasp... though it was so bloody good, feelin' that heat so close..._

"There's not going to _be_ a next time, you pig."

"Well maybe," the blond vampire leers, leaning forward close enough for her to smell his cigarette-laced breath, and suddenly speaking in a lower, sweeter tone, "you should let your hair down more often. In case you didn't know, pet, a girl like you could take a man's breath away when she puts a minute's effort in."

Lorna blinks, unable to deny how flattered this surprise disclosure makes her feel. But just as she starts to smile reflexively, Spike draws in a breath, as though abruptly remembering some key tidbit of knowledge.

"Oh, wait, I _don't_ breathe at all."

He smirks wickedly, her scowl evidence that he'd successfully killed the moment he'd created.

"Till next time, luv," he grins, backing away towards the front of the building, closer to the sounds of partying. At forty yards away, he risks turning his back on her and scarpers, tearing back around the house, thoughts ricocheting around in his head like pinballs.

_What in the hell did I just do? Or __not__ do? I had her at my mercy... could've emptied myself in to a __Slayer__, drunk my fill of her hot, love-spiked blood... and I stopped 'cuz of... __what__? A little whimperin' in my ear? 'Cuz hurtin' her would've just made me a monster like my scum of a grandsire?_

Aggravated by his own weakness, he shakes his head as he stomps through the undergrowth on the opposite side of the frat until he finds the shrub where he'd hidden his own clothes and the shirtless student, still passed-out cold. Letting his demon rise to the surface again, Spike grabs the drunk boy by the neck and closes his jaws over the scabbed bite mark he'd made earlier that evening, gulping unrestrainedly. He drinks, siphoning out the alcohol-tinged lifeblood until the corpse is bleached white... but is not sated.

* * *

"Lorna!" gasps Willow in relief, squeezing Oz's hand extra tightly as her new friend finally reappears. "We've been looking everywhere! I was about to try a locator spell, which... would've been super tough without any ingredients. But... desperate here!"

"I'm okay," Lorna reassures her, slouching slightly in an attempt to appear shorter, though she hasn't spotted Riley anywhere in the crowd this time. _Funny... how he shows up late but barely stays. Maybe parties aren't his thing either._

"And poop-head Parker said you'd snuck off somewhere to have sex with a grad student!" Willow continues in shock. "You... you _didn't_, right?" she asks with wide eyes as the color drains from Lorna's already tan-less face.

"Of c-course not. This may sound a little crazy... but _Spike_ showed up."

"Spike?" she repeats, slack-jawed.

"Maybe he wanted my autograph," Oz suggests thoughtfully.

"Tell you more when we're somewhere less public, noisy, and booze-smelling," says Lorna urgently. _Well, the abbreviated version anyway... how I fled from Riley and got Spike outside, tried to stake him, but got interrupted by the commando guys, and he said something about a gem and then scrammed before I could stop him. Won't tell him what he almost did to me... what he __stopped__ himself from doing... not even sure __why__ he stopped..._

"You okay? Spike didn't hurt you?" demands Willow as they shove their way through the head-bobbing, grinding crowd toward the front door of the Alpha Delta house.

"No," replies Lorna softly. "No, he didn't..."

* * *

_Several hours later, in the Initiative facility_...

Maggie Walsh scowls at the squad of demon hunters, who've dared to return to her without bagging their target. She gives a particularly vehement look to the bruises on Agent Finn's chin and cheekbone.

"So you saw her but lost track of her position in the crowd, and by the time you regrouped, the girl wasn't alone?"

"That's right, Professor. She was in league with a vampire. Their combined strength was too much for us. They took us out, hard."

"A teenage girl and a single vampire?" she asks, skepticism lacing her voice like acid.

Riley seethes and nods stiffly. Though he's working hard to remain calm in front of his commanding officer, inside he's rankling – furious with himself, Graham, Forest, and Wilson, and even more so with the cat-like vampire and the little girl who's ruining his military reputation.

"The beast probably double-crossed her soon as we were out cold," Forest Gates adds with a glower, sporting badly bruised eyelids and a few cracked ribs. "Knew she'd fight us, wait to turn on her until they had us beat. That's the way the animal's mind works. Survival of the fittest, do what it takes to eat and pass on its damned genes."

"Vampires cannot procreate, if that's what you're insinuating," says Professor Walsh, idly glancing down the page on top of her clipboard. The Initiative had performed enough tests on the vampires they'd captured to be certain that both males and females were infertile, cold dead seed and defunct wombs.

"Agent Gates may have a point. It's possible the Cleveland suspect is no longer an issue," Riley scoffs, reluctant to back up Forrest since his sweaty hands had started the whole fight, put the commandos on the defensive. "Likely enough the vampire just raped her and killed her."

"Sir... sounded to me like they both walked, parted ways neutrally," Graham hesitantly contradicts him, voice barely more than a mumble. He'd been utterly terrified, lying immobilized on the aggregate sidewalk with a murderous creature and a mysterious but obviously dangerous fighter standing over him, discussing his fate and that of his comrades. "No idea why, but the vampire didn't drain us when the girl told him not to. We're lucky to be alive."

_Lucky?_ muses Professor Walsh grimly. _Bungled the objective; in some cultures, that kind of failure is considered worse than death._

"For the time being, we'll return to our observatory status on the Cleveland suspect," she says aloud, her crisp voice snapping the four bruised commandos back to attention. "However, if this vampire is seen again, your orders are zap and trap, kill if necessary. Fail me again, and I don't think I have to tell you the consequences will be... severe."

"We won't let you down, Professor," vows Riley. _I won't let you down... Mother..._

* * *

_To be continued..._

_A/N: Not sure why, but I've always had a teensy soft spot for Graham, hate Riley and Forest with a passion. I'm going for a more sinister Riley than in canon, hopefully that comes across. Review, pretty please?_


End file.
